


Of Leather and Love

by shame_less18



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Sex, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Fluff and Smut, GW2020, Gallavich Week, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mentions of Rape, Minor Character Death, Romance, Smut, Terry is an asshole, Very Minor Character Death, Violence, no actual rape, peasant!ian, royal!mickey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:00:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25392757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shame_less18/pseuds/shame_less18
Summary: In which Mickey is a prince and Ian is the bootblack who shines his shoes.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 31
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first long fic in a while, and I really hope you'll enjoy it! A few notes:  
> The kingdom is fictional and I take full creative liberties over it and the time period.  
> The time period is similar to but not identical to medieval times.  
> I haven't put a lot of proofreading into the story, so I apologize for mistakes.  
> If you have questions, ask!  
> I hope you enjoy!

Once upon a time, in a land not so far from our own, there was a beautiful kingdom. The lands were luscious, filled with rolling hills and thick, bountiful forests. A clean freshwater river wrapped around hills and ran between forests, providing fish and clean water to people and animals of the valley. In the winter, snow covered the hills and treetops, coated the paths and chilled the bones of the animals. Yes, the winters in the kingdom were known to be quite aggressive, but they never lasted longer than a few months. The fall was shorter than the harsh winters and could only be noticed by locals as it occurred. The leaves barely changed colour before drifting from the trees with slight fall breezes, and it seemed as though summer changed to winter without a moment’s notice to all that passed through the kingdom. The grass was green all spring and summer, the air pleasantly warm but not scorching. The winds were never overpowering, and it seemed to only rain when the lands needed nourishment. Spring and summer were a favourite by far, to locals and passerby alike. The way the sun warmed the earth, the way the dew glimmered in the early morning hours, the fresh scent of clean and healthy lands that filled the lungs of those awake so early in the day; all of it made a magnificent and incapacitating thrill run down the spine that alerted one to the fact that summer was there upon them.  
Nestled amongst the hills of the kingdom was a modest village. The paths were all dirt and gravel, lush greenery running along either side as they twisted and curled throughout the village. To the west of the settlement is where the river lay, riverbanks low and easy to access. The homes were huts with straw rooves and stone walls, averaging three rooms apiece. Each home was separated from the others by a small yard that was fenced off with worn, splintered wooden posts used to keep chickens or other livestock within the limits of the property. The village had a market comprised of one narrow street with various stalls and vendors selling artifacts, décor, fruits, and vegetables on either side. There were taverns and small shops scattered along the street that made up the market, all were sort of dingy in appearance, but the atmosphere was lively, as was the rest of the village.  
A glorious castle overlooked the village to the north, made from only the finest stone that money could buy. An imposing wall, about thirty feet high, surrounded the courtyard that stood beyond the castle, containing the area so nobody from outside could see in. The walkway closest to the village that lead up to the towering archway of the fortress was made of ashen bricks, and as one moved closer to the entrance, they crossed through a foyer and the bricks turned to white marble that became a short, three-step staircase. At the top of the staircase stood a towering teak-wood double door that met in a single arch about nine feet high; on either side of said door stood a guard adorned with an iron chest plate stiffly clutching a spear. 

Chatter filled the streets as Ian, accompanied by his older brother, pushed through throngs of people as they made their way to the market street to do their weekly shopping.  
“Okay, we only have three nockels” Lip stared into the worn leather pouch he held in his hand “and ten knickles so we need to really budget this week.” He said as he counted and double counted their coins. Ian was already prepared to need to stretch their money, seeing as he was one of the three money earners in their household and he alone had contributed one nockel and three knickles to the weekly fund. Lip sighed heavily, tightening the drawstring on the pouch before tying it around his neck where it belonged. Lip forced this way through a gaggle of chittering ladies wearing long, tattered cloaks to get to the fruit vendor, who, as always, was standing next to a stack of wooden crates full of ruby red apples and dark cherries. Ian, on the other hand, blended into the crowd of people closest to the crates, waiting for the agreed upon signal from his brother. 

“How much for a pouch of cherries and a box of apples?” Lip asked, and Ian stepped closer to the crates of fruit.  
“Same as always,” the vendor said, his attention split between Lip and the aforementioned ladies who had since decided to peruse the fruits “five knickles.” 

Lip’s blue eyes met Ian’s green, and he blinked twice in succession. As the sandy-haired man sifted through the coin pouch, Ian reached forth and began scooping handfuls of cherries into his cloak pockets. He managed a couple of apples too, before he heard Lip telling the merchant that they just didn’t have enough money that week to buy any fruits. Ian stepped back into the crowd, pulling his hood over his head as he pressed through the people back into the main street where Lip met him soon after. Subtly, he opened his pocket for Lip to peer in, and they shared a wolfish grin before moving onto the next vendors. 

When they reached the end of the market street, they had one nockel and seven knickles left over. It was strategic to spend some money each week instead of stealing everything they needed, because they would prefer if the vendors didn’t get suspicious as to why they weren’t starving, resulting in their realizing that the boys were stealing. The Gallagher’s could not afford to get banned from the only vendors in town. Lip and Ian made their way back to their ramshackle old house joking and sharing stories of almost being caught by merchants from the day’s trip. As they reached their cobblestone walkway, Ian instinctively opened the wooden gate for Lip to pass through before he followed, closing the fence behind him so the family’s chickens and goats wouldn’t escape into the street. They crossed the threshold into the hut, making sure the rickety wooden door was closed properly behind them to prevent a draft from entering with them. The hut was loud with chaos; laughter and noise ringing out from each room as its occupants went about their lives.  
Fiona, in her dark brown linen dress that brushed the tops of her feet with each movement, was hunched over the makeshift countertop of the main room kneading bread dough with all the force she could muster. The dingy white sleeves of her under dress were rolled past her elbows, her hair tied back with a piece of wool yarn. Low grunts escaped her throat with every press of the dough, and neither Lip nor Ian mentioned that the reason the bread was always so hard was because she over kneaded it.

“Hey, Fi, got some good stuff from town today.” Ian said as he placed a quick kiss to the top of her head. She wiped her sweaty forehead with her forearm and smiled tiredly at her brothers.  
“Thanks, boys. You’re really savin’ me by doin’ the shopping.” She continued to push and pull the dough. Lip chuckled, a soft smile on his face as he said, “It’s no problem, wouldn’t want ya burning out over some expensive ass cherries.”  
The three of them shared a quiet but nervous chuckle, nobody commenting on how true the statement was. Fiona worked two jobs, making two thirds of the money that Lip did on his own. She was a barmaid by night and a weaver by day. This was the one day in the week where her schedules didn’t almost interfere, so the older boys had taken it upon themselves to do the shop so she could at least pretend to rest. Sexism at it’s finest. Lip was a tutor, having been the only Gallagher thus far who could read comprehensively. He was only taught because the village scholar had taken a liking to him when he was a child, and he learned fast enough that he could spend time with the scholar while also keeping up with his chores. He taught the village children a few hours of each day, with each family paying him incredibly poor amounts, but the amount of families he worked for meant that he managed to take home a fair amount of money each week. Ian was an apprentice shoe-shiner, he worked for a very elderly man who had been shining shoes of the rich for decades before the new tyrant took over the kingdom. With less work, as the tyrant had run the rich dry, the shoe-shiner grew feeble. He took on Ian as his apprentice, knowing that he would end up shining the shoes of royalty one day. Ian took his work very seriously and did his best to learn everything he could from his mentor.

After emptying their cloak pockets of the goods they managed for the week, Ian and Lip parted ways for the day. Lip went to take Carl to the river to fish for dinner and Ian accompanied Debbie as he taught her how to do her new chores, chores than Ian had once been solely responsible for. The two redheads stepped into the yard, Debbie going to get some dried corn from a burlap bag that leaned against the stone wall of the hut. She grabbed the hem of her blue linen dress, pulling it up to form a large pouch at her abdomen. She threw a few handfuls of the corn into the pouch, turning to locate the chickens in the fenced area that made up their yard. As she scattered the corn on the ground, the chickens ran to the feed, clucking as they went. Ian followed behind the chickens, picking up the eggs from their makeshift nests as each one ran off to eat. He set them all in Debbie’s pouch for safe keeping.  
“It’s best to take the eggs when they’re eatin’, keeps ‘em out of the way.” He said mindlessly, Debbie nodded in response. As they watched the chickens demolish their rations, Ian couldn’t help but feel grateful that they even had animals to begin with. Normally, only the peasants who had some sort of money could afford animals, but the Gallagher’s father, Frances, had managed to steal this livestock from other unsuspecting villages in the kingdom over the course of a few years. It was probably the only good thing their father had done before he died of an internal sickness years before. Ian shook himself out of his thoughts, reminded that they still had to milk the goats. 

The sun was just starting to enter the center of the sky when they finished tending to the animals, a clear indication that Ian had to be leaving to work. He waved to Debbie and Fiona, who were gathering laundry to wash at the river, as he set off back in the direction of the market street. The walk was quieter than this morning, the chatter having died down as the villagers did their chores and went to work. It was like all the liveliness that had filled the air was stripped from it, the surrounding area becoming silent, save for the occasional murmur or shout. The building of the shoe shiner was stone, the roof and door wooden. A sign on the overhang depicted an image of a stick figure crouched at another’s feet, clutching a rag. Ian could see his mentor through the window as he approached the shop.

“Good morning, Rowan. I trust you’re doing well?” Ian greeted as he entered the shop, taking off his cloak to hang up on his wooden peg.  
“Oh, Ian, I didn’t even see you come in.” the old man said, turning toward the redhead from his hunched position near the fire. “I have some fantastic news! The king has requested that we enter the castle tomorrow to tend to he and his right hand’s shoes. They have some sort of meetin’, and they want to look their best! Isn’t this exciting?”  
Ian swallowed hard. He had been apprenticing with Rowan for a few months now, and there was no doubt that he was the best of the best when is came to shoe shining. That could be because he was the only shoe shiner in the kingdom, but Rowan had earned the title and he deserved it. Ian felt concern bubble up in his gut because he feared that while Rowan was the best, he himself was not. Plain and simple, Ian didn’t feel ready to take on the responsibility of shining royalty’s shoes. He knew this was what he was being groomed for the whole time, but the King, Terry the Tyrant, was known to kill those who even slightly displeased him. He feared that if he did not accompany Rowan, he would be killed, and he feared that if he did accompany Rowan but made a mistake, he would be killed. He knew his siblings could not survive without his wage and sticky fingers. Ian breathed out some of his worry, trying to calm his nerves before responding. He did not want Rowan to think that he wasn’t worthy of the teachings.  
“Ah! How exciting indeed! We should begin to prepare as soon as possible!” he tried his best to sound enthused, and Rowan was none the wiser. The pair began to gather their materials; their best polish and brushes, their cleanest pails and linen rags. When they had everything that they needed packed into Rowans saddle bags, Ian was dismissed for the day to clean his clothes and prepare himself for the trip to the castle the next morning.  


Upon returning home, Ian greeted Carl and Lip, who had just returned from their fishing trip. They stood outside the hut, gutting the fish they caught for dinner on a large, flat stone. The redheaded Gallagher brother said goodbye as quickly as he had greeted them as he tumbled into the hut to gather his personal shoeshining kit and his only other set of linens, clean from Fiona and Debbie’s trip to the river earlier in the day. He quickly made his way to the gravelly pathway that lead to the riverbank west of the hut, mindlessly strolling along in hopes of having the shallow part of the river to himself. His shoes looked ragged and dusty as they pressed against the dirt, and he hoped he would be able to get them somewhat cleaned up before he had to make his appearance before the king and his right hand. The bright green grass that followed the pathway on either side was shimmering in the afternoon sun, water having been dripped on it from villagers leaving the river with damp clothes. This was an indication that he was getting closer to the water’s edge. As he approached the edge of the forest that protected the riverbank from onlookers, he listened as closely as he could for an indication that other villagers were at the river. So far, he could hear nothing, so he picked up his pace, his tattered shoes meeting the ground more frequently. He crossed through a sort of thicket of strong branches and bushy shrubs, holding his hand above his eyes to ensure he didn’t get thwacked with greenery. He crouched slightly underneath a particularly large brunch, closing his eyes instinctively. When he straightened his stance and opened his eyes, they were met with the sight of the clear running river glimmering in the afternoon sun. The riverbank was void of all people, much to Ian’s delight. He approached the water’s edge, stopping where the sand of the riverbed met the green grass of the land. He took a cursory glance around before removing his brown linen vest and kicking off his shoes. He crouched onto his knees in the sand as he opened the worn leather pouch that held his shoeshining supplies. His brush was old and very used, the bristles barely clinging to the wooden handle. It had served its purpose before and would do it again, but he hoped he could get a newer one soon. He dipped the brush into the water, shaking it slightly to get the dampness into the bristles. His left boot in hand, he began to scrub at the dirt and dust that was caked into the soles and on the surface of the shoe.  


After what seemed like hours, but was probably only around fifteen minutes, both boots were as scrubbed as they could get without falling apart in his hands. He took pride in his boots; they were the nicest any of the Gallagher’s had ever owned. Fiona and Lip wore something more like slippers made from linen in the summer and their winter shoes were made of rough wool. The kids were pretty much in the same boat but preferred to go barefoot in the summer when they could. Oh, the joys of being young, Ian thought. Debbie and Carl had to be around seventeen and eighteen years old, but Ian couldn’t pin exactly what age they were. Liam only had one pair of shoes, so he spent almost all day in the hut and when he wasn’t, he was in the yard playing with the animals barefoot. Ian pulled himself from his train of thought to focus back on shining and polishing his boots. They were black leather, turned brown from dirt and use. He had gotten them when he had spent his first month working for Rowan; they were a gift from the old man himself. They were handmade and tailored to his size, now that he had quit growing, so he wouldn’t need new boots until these ones fell apart.  


He pulled his small linen cloth from his shining kit and opened his small canister of grease polish. The boots were mostly dry now, having sat in the sun long enough to evaporate any leftover dampness. His hands dipped the linen into the polish with practiced ease and he began wiping and smearing it along the leather of his shoes. After he completed the first coat, he tapped the linen onto the surface of the water to collect a few drops before rubbing it into the layer of polish he just applied. He rubbed it in circular clockwise motions until he could vaguely see reflections in the leather. Once more, he dipped the linen in the polish before he continued to rub it into the material. The last was always the longest coat, and he sat there in the sand for half an hour rubbing the last coat of grease into the leather of his boots, massaging until he could see himself in the reflection. At last, he set the newly polished boots on a flat elevated stone next to the river to dry a little as he continued to clean and care for his clothes. The boots looked great, the blackness of the leather revived and shining in the sun. Sure, they still had some rough spots, but those spots couldn’t be fixed without a tailor, so Ian felt pretty good about himself. He glanced around the area again to ensure he was alone before he stripped out of his canvas off-white tunic. He pulled his tan pants off, his underwear following in one swift movement.  
The water felt cool on his hot skin as he waded in to his waist level, clothes in hand. The rocks at the bottom of the riverbed were sharp on his feet but he didn’t really mind, and he scraped his soles against them to remove the build up of grime from the dusty pathways of the village. His clothes were soaked in his hands, and he began to work them and scrub them across the rocks as well in order to get them as clean as possible for wear. The sun was beginning to set by the time he was satisfied with his cleaning job, and he clambered out of the water to hang the clothes on a tree branch that he knew would catch the last rays. Ian let out a sigh of relief as he waded back into the cool, clear water, going to waist level again. He sank into the water, soaking his hair and face, before he stood again and shook his hair out. His hands ran over his arms and legs, his chest and abs as he used the water and his callouses to work away the dirt and stickiness from his sweat that had built up from the last time he bathed. For awhile, he just stood in the river as the water flowed around him. He liked this feeling, the feeling that he had no real impact on the way the water ran. It just twisted and curled around him, swishing on its way to the lake it inevitably drained into. He liked to think this is how the world would go on with or without him, always just flowing to the next thing. It sent a calm, serene chill down his spine, and his nervous energy pooled into the river around him. He rubbed his hands into his eyes before scraping them down his cheeks and over his neck where his fingers met each other at the nape of his neck. Just as he was beginning to consider turning and clambering up onto the riverbank, he heard a noise. The distinct sound of a rock tumbling from the bank into the water.  
Ian turned, startled. His hair stood up on the back of his neck, and his instincts flared up into the fight or flight response. But as his green eyes met the gleaming blue orbs of a dark-haired man farther down the riverbank, he could only freeze. The man seemed frozen too, as he stared back at Ian from his place on the edge of the water. He looked like he had been caught doing something naughty, his cheeks pink and a defensive scowl on his face. He wore black, almost nothing but black. His pants were black, tucked into his black boots that had shiny silver buckles, and his tunic was black with a brown belt that also had a shiny silver buckle. On his left hip a sheath with a longsword was fastened to the leather of his belt. Ian took a deep breath, suddenly all too aware of the fact that he was standing naked in the river engaged in a staring contest with a very handsome stranger who had very blue eyes and very nice boots. The redhead closed his eyes to brace himself for the confrontation that he thought for sure would ensue, but when he opened his eyes, the stranger was gone. He blinked in confusion for a second, shaking his head in disbelief as he wondered if he just imagined the stranger that was just standing on that very large rock on the water’s edge. His heart thumped in his chest as he scoured the area, looking for any sign of the mystery man, but to no avail. He quickly got out of the river, pulling on the clothes that Fiona and Debbie had washed for him earlier. They were of lesser quality than the ones he had just washed himself, the tunic made of linen rather than canvas. He pulled on his freshly polished boots and gathered the clothes he cleaned from the tree branches. He took one last look around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the stranger from minutes before.  


The walk home was a blur to Ian; his thoughts were not with his surroundings but instead with Rowan and their daunting task the next day. Before he knew it, he was closing the gate to the hut and crossing the threshold into the small building. His siblings were all gathered around the rickety wooden table in the main room, feasting on fish and corn. He quickly dumped his stuff on his makeshift bed in the boys’ room and promptly sat at the table in his spot, his food already getting cold. When Fiona asked about his day, he quickly recounted the events that had taken place, but he left out the part about the blue-eyed stranger. He wanted to keep that to himself at least until he found out who it was. His family was rightfully worried when they learned of his trip to the castle, and he did everything he could to reassure them that he would be fine, even though he wasn’t so sure about it himself. The sun was set and as he helped Fiona tidy up after dinner, they chatted about things like the upcoming taxes and how the kids -though, admittedly, they weren’t much of children anymore- would be needing new shoes. Before bed, Ian looked around the three-room hut to ensure that nothing was out of place. He peeked into the girls’ room where Debbie was curled up on her burlap bag stuffed with straw, noting Fiona’s empty bed. She was at the tavern on market street earning her wage, probably exhausted already from the long day’s worth of chores. His eyes scanned the main room, making sure that the food was stored properly, and the makeshift kitchen was clean. Finally, he quietly padded into the boys’ room where Lip, Carl, and Liam were all already asleep on their burlap beds. Ian checked once more that he had everything ready for his trip to the castle tomorrow, before he laid down on his own burlap bed. He pushed and worked the straw into lumps that were comfortable for him and covered himself with another torn piece of burlap that he used for a blanket. As he closed his eyes to sleep, all he could focus on was the churning of nerves in his stomach, and the glimmer of blue eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trip to the castle, and the shining of shoes.

The sun was barely over the horizon when Ian left the hut the next morning, satchel slung across his shoulder. He was wearing the better of his clothes; his canvas tunic that had laces at the front of the neckline with baggy sleeves that were easy to roll up past his elbows, his tan pants tucked into his black leather boots. He had a brown leather belt around his hips, not only holding up his pants but also acting as the attachment point for his small silver dagger’s holster. The dagger had been a gift from his mother, who had stolen it from a long dead noble back in the days before the Tyrant’s reign. His hair was pushed back out of his face, slicked there with grease. He knew that he looked poor, but he looked his best and that was all he could do. He made his way quickly to the shoeshining shop where Rowan was waiting on horseback. The horse he rode was plain brown, its saddlebags the ones that were packed the day before. Another horse stood off to the side, saddled up and ready. It was black, the saddle a deep brown. He approached the horse, steadied his right foot securely in the stirrup, and slung himself over onto the saddle. He gathered the reins in his fists and looked to Rowan to lead. Rowan nudged his own horse into motion, and Ian did the same, following at a close distance.

As they rode, Ian couldn’t help but stare at his mentor. The man had to be at least seventy, his back was hunched and his body skinny. His hair was gone off the top of his head, leaving only wisps of grey along the sides. His eyes were blue and watery, and they made Ian feel warm whenever they made eye contact. It was like he could feel the fatherly love that Rowan had for him rolling into his being with every piece of advice and every gentle shoulder pat. Rowan’s nose was long and hooked, his mouth gummy and toothless. Usually, he had the slightest amount of white stubble on his chin, but today, Ian noticed, it was gone. The old man must’ve shaved for the occasion. He wore his best clothing too, a white tunic and some dark brown trousers. The thing that made Rowan who he was, though, was his boots. They were black and shiny, not a rough patch to be seen. The buckles were steel, the soles always clean. Ian had never seen boots so nice until he met Rowan, and he still hadn’t. Rowan made his own boots with his bare hands, and it wasn’t a service he offered at the shop. He wanted to keep it a hobby, something he could do for pleasure rather than worry about deadlines and the pressures that came with selling crafted items. Rowan made Ian’s boots, too, but they weren’t nearly as nice as his own. Still, Ian’s footwear rivalled that of the rest of the village, and he would forever be grateful for Rowan’s craftsmanship. Ian was considering asking Rowan to teach him the craft, so he could make nice boots for his siblings.

The pair continued further and further out of town, and Ian’s eyes were drawn to the magnificent castle before them. The stone was the cleanest he had ever seen; ivy was growing up and over it in a way that looked extremely elegant. The closer they got to the grounds, the bigger the castle looked. The dirt pathway became bricks suddenly, and Ian loved the sound of the horse hooves on the ground. He looked on as they drew closer, butterflies fluttering in his gut as they approached the first archway. Rowan nudged his horse to stop, and Ian did the same, the pair dismounting nervously. They stopped to take in the sight. The castle looked incredible, tidy, the hedges and bushes well trimmed. He could hear a fountain somewhere, but he wasn’t sure exactly where it was, and the birds in the area were chirping happily. The place screamed royalty and elegance and Ian was overcome with nerves. Each with reins in hand, they continued toward the archway, guiding the horses with them. The pair crossed underneath the arch, and now stood underneath a stone ceiling in front of a massive double door. The guards that they had failed to notice up until that very second crossed their spears suddenly, startling the two peasants from their reverie.

“State your name and purpose!” the left guard said, never looking in Ian or Rowan’s direction.

“Rowan Blackboot and Ian Gallagher, here to shine His Majesty’s shoes.” Rowan announced proudly.

The guards relaxed, the one on the right brought his hand to his mouth and let out a loud whistle. Two stablemen approached from the left side of the castle, offering to take the horses. Ian emptied the saddlebags into his satchel before handing over the reins.

“Do either of you have any weapons on your person?” one of the guards -Ian was unsure which as he had been distracted by his satchel buckle- asked.

“Just this dagger, sir.” Ian apprehensively presented the dagger and handed it to the guard who motioned for it.

“We’ll return this once your business is taken care of.”

Ian nodded his agreement, and the massive door opened with a long ‘creak’ sound. His boots had never met marble before, but that was what the floor was made of. They climbed the three steps of the wide staircase that lead to the open doors. As soon as their boots hit the marble on the other side of the threshold, the doors creaked closed behind them. Unsure of what to do next, Ian looked over at Rowan for guidance. His back was straight, his eyes staring ahead, and Ian didn’t know what to do so he just followed suit. He couldn’t help but sneak a glance around, painfully disappointed by the interior of the castle. The walls were barren, with no décor in sight. The marble floors were somehow scuffed and dirty, as if they hadn’t been cared for in decades. There was a thick layer of dust on all the surfaces, and the room they stood in was empty. This was not what Ian had imagined when he thought of the way royalty lived. The room even smelled musty somehow, despite being next to the largest doors Ian would ever witness. He kept his eyes fixed forward as they stood, waiting; for what, Ian wasn’t sure.

Suddenly, Ian noticed he could hear a tapping noise coming from his left. He wanted to look, but Rowan hadn’t moved, so he didn’t. The tapping was getting louder with every second, and soon, Ian realized that the sound was more of a clacking than a tapping. Regardless, he stiffened in anticipation.

“You guys the bootblacks?” a female voice rang out from next to them as the clacking stopped. Heels. The clacking was heels on the marble.

“Yes, ma’am.” Rowan said dutifully from his place next to Ian.

“Follow me.” The woman’s voice was light, but it sounded apathetic, like she wished she could be anywhere but there.

Ian and Rowan turned to the woman, who was already retreating down a long corridor. The floor was still marble, but there was a very thin excuse for a carpet running down the centre of it. The carpet was dusty and stained, and Ian figured if his bare feet touched it, they would stick. The pair followed her, staring at her back. It was the most interesting thing in the corridor, the walls being empty and just as dusty as the entry room. Her hair was long, down to her buttocks, and drawn back in a tight braid that started all the way at the top of her head. Her body was thin, wrapped in black silk that made up what had to be the most beautiful dress Ian had ever seen. He couldn’t even see the front of the dress, but he was convinced no other dress would ever rival this one. It was long, all the way to the floor almost, and fitted around the woman’s waist. Ian could tell her breasts were probably propped up on display from the tightness of the corset back. The shoulders of the dress were made of this strange netted fabric with floral designs that Ian had never seen before. The sleeves were tight around her long arms, her hands peeking out from the hems. She was very pale. Her nails were black, and Ian didn’t know how they got to be black like that. Paint, maybe? His eyes zeroed in on her shoes. They were black, leather, and had a very high heel. He offhandedly wondered if he would be shining her shoes today too.

At the end of the corridor, they turned and continued down another. This corridor at least had windows, but Ian could see the dust fluttering in the sunlight, and it unnerved him. He tried to draw his attention away from the grime of the castle, and all too soon, the woman was stopping in front of a door almost taller than the entry door. The wood was darker, and the handles were brass, and Ian’s heart jumped into his throat. The woman turned and Ian got his first good look at her face.

Her chin was pointed, her cheekbones high. Her narrow eyes were a captivating blue, and Ian couldn’t help but feel that they were familiar somehow. Her nose was small and pointed delicately, and her thin, red lips were pulled into a scowl. He was right about the dress; it was by far the most beautiful he’d ever seen. The front bodice details were grey, and they swirled and wrapped around her waist. The dress flowed like a waterfall, not overly puffy but not tight either. The sleeves, he noticed weren’t as tight as he originally thought, in fact, the hems of the sleeves were slightly wider than the rest of the arm. He felt a wave of hostility roll off her and hit him in the face. She was a beautiful woman, and he wondered what she was doing here. She did not look like a maid to him.

“On the other side of this door, my father, His Majesty the King, and my brother, the King’s right hand, await. Bow when you greet them, announce your name and purpose as you bow. Only address the King as ‘Your highness’ or ‘My Lord’ for fear of getting killed.” She said, and it sounded like a script to a play she didn’t audition for. Ian swallowed hard. This was the crown princess of the kingdom and he had not greeted her accordingly. He felt his heart nearly drop out of his body in fear until her face lit up with a shit eating grin.

“Relax, fools. If I wanted you to greet me as royalty I would have announced myself. God, I love seeing the looks peasants give me.” She laughed, and it rang out like a cackle down the corridor. “Don’t forget what I said earlier, because they do not play as lightly as I do.” With that, she turned and rapped her knuckles on the door.

“Enter!” a voice boomed, and Ian thought he might throw up.

The woman, who’s name Ian still didn’t know, wrapped her delicate fingers around the brass handle. She pulled with all her might, and the door slowly opened to reveal the throne. The woman stepped forward into the room, beckoning Rowan and Ian behind her. She bowed, mumbled a quiet ‘My Lord’, and stepped out of the way, standing off to the right, next to the door for the time being.

Rowan and Ian bowed simultaneously, right hands across their waists and left hands flourished back behind them, as Rowan announced themselves the same way he did to the guards. They stayed bowed, filled with anxiety, until a stiff and booming voice shouted “Rise!” to which both men stood to their full heights and looked ahead into the room. Ian could swear he felt time stop.

The floor was the same -albeit, clean- white marble as the rest of the castle, only differing because of the long, red carpet that ran down the centre. Upon a platform around five stairs high sat two large chairs, a short distance from one another. One was gold, with a red back cushion and elegant designs carved into it; the other was smaller, also gold, but with a black back cushion and mush lesser designs. Ian’s eyes took in the sight of the King and he felt very overwhelmed. His irises were the same blue as the woman’s, the scowl almost identical; except instead of gracing the features of a lovely lady, it was carved into an old man’s scarred and aggressive face. His hair was whiter than Rowans, but there was more present on his head. His teeth were yellowed, which was only pronounced more as he scowled. He was wearing a dark blue tunic that had some very subtle designs in the fabric, and a long, navy blue cape was tied around his shoulders. A guard stood to his left; his chest plate embossed with the kingdom’s insignia; a black crow flying over a coat of arms.

But then, Ian’s eyes fell to the King’s son. His right hand. The man was looking back at him, his cheeks slightly tinged pink. The man had raven black hair, and the same blue eyes as the King and the woman from before. Ian suddenly felt sick as the memory of the blue-eyed man from the river flashed through his mind. This couldn’t be the same person, though. What would the crown prince be doing out by peasant’s waters? Preposterous, Ian thought. He stared at the man longer, he took in his pale face, his high cheekbones, and his plump lips that were pulled into a shocked grimace. He watched as the man schooled his features into a scowl that mirrored both His Majesty’s and the woman’s. If Ian found that the scowl looked much better on this face than the previous two, but he didn’t think about it for too long and it was nobody’s business but his own. His eyes trailed down the pale face past the pointed chin and he took in the man’s all black clothing. The neckline of his tunic was laced like Ian’s, his belt was brown and secured a longsword in its sheath. Ian eyed the way he was sitting, somewhat sideways with his legs crossed to accommodate the sword. What stopped Ian was the boots the man was wearing. Black leather, no scuffs, only slightly dirty. With shiny silver buckles. He swallowed hard as his eyes bounced back up to meet blue once more.

“Amanda, you may excuse yourself.” The King boomed, and it brought Ian out of his daze. Amanda. Her name was Amanda. Amanda bowed once more before she exited the room, the door creaking closed loudly behind her. Ian supposed they wouldn’t be polishing her shoes.

“What’re you fools standing there for? You gonna shine our shoes or what?” the King questioned aggressively. Ian heard Rowan mumble a quick “of course, milord” before they began to hastily pull supplies from Ian’s satchel in preparation.

“Which one of us would you like to shine your shoes, My Lord?” Rowan asked humbly, bowing slightly. The king made a noise in consideration before he growled “The old one. The ginger can do Mickey’s.”

Ian swallowed hard, grateful that he wouldn’t be in such close proximity to the king, but also nervous that he would be so close to the crown prince, the one who had seen him bathing in the river. Mickey. His name was Mickey. He gathered his tools and moved to stand in front of the prince.

“May I approach?” He asked tentatively, and the prince rolled his eyes and nodded haughtily. Ian bowed slightly and stepped forth, climbing the steps and kneeling on the floor in front of the prince’s boots.

“You gonna kiss ‘em?” Ian heard the prince’s gruff voice and looked up, shocked. Was he supposed to kiss the royal boots? Is that something someone forgot to mention? Before he could react, the prince’s face split into a wolfish grin and a laugh tore out of his throat. “I’m just fuckin’ with ya.”

Ian couldn’t hold back the grin that spread across his face. He quickly wiped the expression from his features and set to getting his linen and other supplies ready. Amanda returned to the room with a bow to pour warm water in a basin that she placed between the two throne chairs. Ian started by dipping his brush in the warm water, wrapping his hand around the heel of the prince’s boot, and scrubbing away to remove dirt and debris. It didn’t take very long to clean the pair, and Ian noted that the prince must care for his footwear. He wrapped his linen cloth around his fingertips, dipping it into the grease polish, before he began rubbing it into the beautifully cared for leather in his hand. He rubbed and rubbed, making sure every part of the boot was polished and shining enough that he could vaguely see shapes in the reflection. He wiped some sweat from his brow with his forearm, looking up to see if the prince was satisfied so far. Said prince just stared down at Ian with his unforgiving blue eyes, and Ian ducked back down to continue his work. He dipped his linen into some fresh water that had been changed while he was focused on his work and started to rub the water droplets into the first layer of polish. The leather shone more and more as he worked the water in, and when he was satisfied that both boots were rubbed thoroughly, he dipped the linen back into the grease polish. He worked that layer into the leather as well, ensuring that he could almost make out his own face in the reflection. The last layer of polish was up, and Ian was nervous. It was the one layer he had never done before, because it required a very special, very expensive type of wax-based polish that Rowan saved for special occasions. He dipped his linen into the waxy polish, his fingers relishing the smoothness and lack of oiliness that the texture offered. He massaged it into the leather, shocked by how instantly shiny the leather was becoming. He had never been able to accomplish this shine without rubbing for what felt like hours, but here he was, seeing that shine with just a swipe of the cloth. His passion was revived, and he rubbed and rubbed the footwear, relishing in the feel of the leather in his hands. When he was positive that the boots were as perfect as could be, he leaned back, wiping his brow again. The prince was still staring down at him like he was before, and Ian felt his face heat up with his gaze. He smeared a minute amount of grease polish onto the buckle of the boot hastily. Finally, he grabbed his dust rag, made from the softest wool, and began to buff out any spots that his fingers left behind. As he gazed into the leather of the prince’s boot, he could not only see himself perfectly clearly, but he could see the prince’s upside-down forehead looking down from over the edge of his chair. Ian breathed deeply and quietly, fearing that he would upset the King if he sighed too heavily. He leaned back, a tired smile on his face as he stared up at the prince, waiting for his criticism. He watched as icy blue eyes inspected the boots from all directions, the prince’s leg shifting with each observed angle.

“Not bad, firecrotch. Might have ta request ya again.” The prince sounded satisfied and Ian let out a breath he didn’t notice he was holding in.

“Thank you, thank you so much, sire.” Ian bowed his head once more before he began to collect his supplies and put them back in the satchel. He took in his surroundings for the first time since he started his work, startling himself with how focused he could become while he polished boots. Rowan looked to already be finished the King’s boots; for how long, Ian wasn’t sure. Both men, supplies cleared up and in Ian’s satchel, bowed and thanked the King and his prince before Amanda returned to guide them back out of the castle. It wasn’t until he had his dagger back on his hip and his body on the horse that he realized the prince had allotted him a mildly inappropriate nickname. He shrugged, assuming it was just something royalty did with peasants and sank into the saddle for the journey home.

The pay Ian got from their expedition was a significant raise from his usual weekly earnings, amounting to three nockels and six knickles. He wasn’t sure how much exactly the King paid Rowan, and quite frankly, Ian didn’t care. He added his coins to the family pouch, excited that he had been able to earn so much just for doing what he did every day. When the rest of his family returned home that evening, they were all curious and eager to find out what experience Ian had. He recounted all the events of the day; the guards who held onto his dagger for safe keeping, the maid who turned out to be the crown princess of the kingdom with her dress that had the strange floral netting, the unruly disarray of the royal fortress, and the grouchy look on the King’s face. He conveniently left out the handsome features of the prince, but he did talk about how his boots were some of the most cared for that he had ever worked with. He also left out the nickname that the prince had given him and talked enthusiastically of the prince’s offhanded comment about requesting him back. His family all listened to every word he said, reacting appropriately to each detail of the story. When the sun began its descent, Ian all but fell into bed. He pulled his burlap blanket up to his chin, nestling his face against his knuckles as he dozed off into a deep and restful slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I plan to update every Sunday, and I will let everyone know if I can't manage the schedule. Find me on tumblr to ask questions! If my blog is flagged for sensitive content, I promise there isn't anything to be concerned about on it. I am currently trying to appeal the flag. Don't be shy!   
> [Have a great week!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/shame-less-18)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quite a long chapter, includes Mickey and Ian's next meeting.

Around a week had passed, and Lip and Ian found themselves once again looking into their little, worn leather pouch of coins as they strolled along the dirt pathway that lead to the market street.

“We have seven nockels and eight knickles this week, we can probably spend a little more than last week if we play our cards right.” Lip said as he pulled the drawstring on the pouch and placed it around his neck. Ian nodded proudly, excited that he had been able to contribute over half of that amount.

“Is it okay if you take the food back to the hut yourself? Rowan asked that I go to work early today to spend some time crafting boots.” Ian had finally gotten around to asking Rowan to teach him the art of making footwear from leather, and Rowan had been more than ecstatic to teach him. Ian eyed his brother from his peripheral as he awaited an answer. It wasn’t the first time Lip had to carry the food on his own, and they had a method for how to get everything safely on Lip’s back for the walk. Still, Ian half expected his brother to say no.

“Sure, man. I can do that.” With that, Ian let out a breath. The pair went about their regular way of shopping, leaving the market with four nockels and two knickles. Ian took off his tattered cloak that had pockets full of fruits and vegetables and laid it on the ground. He carefully wrapped the cloak around the rest of the food, tying it in a way that made it a sort of bag. He handed it to Lip, who dumped the goods he had been carrying into the pocket shaped mass before he slung it over his arm.

“Thanks again!” Ian said to his brother as he turned to depart. He crossed the market street and entered the shoeshining shop, greeting Rowan as he closed the door behind him.

“Mornin’, Ian! I got some great news! The prince sent a horseman to request that you tend to his boots tomorrow at the palace!” the old man’s voice rang out from somewhere in the back of the building.

“Oh! We’ll depart at the same time?” Ian asked, his mind already focused on something other than the conversation at hand.

“The King doesn’t need his boots taken care of. The Prince only requested your presence. You’re the only one who needs to go.” Rowan said, and Ian didn’t miss the slowness of his speech, as if he was talking to a fool. But when the weight of the news hit him, his heart jumped into his throat.

“A-alone?” he asked around the lump he couldn’t swallow.

“Well I can’t attend unless I’ve been asked.” The old man responded as he dug around in a wooden crate of leather and laces. Ian dragged his teeth along his bottom lip.

“Are you sure he wants me and not you? You’re much more experienced.” The younger man asked, nerves swirling in his stomach.

“Ian, my boy, he specifically said he wanted the young one. Even if I wanted to go in your place, I couldn’t. You are perfectly capable of this task, I taught you well. You have made me so proud with your passion and skill.” Rowan had stopped rooting around in his crate and crossed the room. As he spoke, his eyes shimmered with paternal love, his hand had raised to rest on Ian’s shoulder. Ian’s eyes were drawn to his hand, taking in the delicate skin and veins on the surface. He knew that his fingers and palms were calloused and darkened permanently by polish. The two sides of Rowan’s hands were like two sides of the same coin, one side rough and worked and one side papery and soft. Ian knew that one day his own hands would look similar, the age marks joined by freckles. An immense calm soothed over him at the feel of Rowan’s fatherly touch, and Ian released his held breath.

“Do not worry, my child. I will help you prepare like we did last time. You will do just fine.” Ian’s eyes met the old man’s, and he nodded with renewed passion. They spent the day crafting Ian’s very first pair of boots and packing up the saddle bags with supplies, talking and making jokes the whole time. Not unlike the night before their first trip to the castle, Ian could only think about his nerves as he laid down to sleep.

When Ian awoke the next morning, the sun had not risen yet. He rose from his bed and stretched his muscles, listening to the popping of his joints as he did. He pulled on his tunic, still somewhat clean from when Debbie washed it last. He sifted through the pile of clothes on the floor, looking for his pants. He accidentally put on Lip’s slightly shorter pants before he found his own, and he gained a new appreciation for having his ankles covered. After he tumbled out of the boys’ room, he sat at the makeshift table and ate a handful of cherries for breakfast. Fiona entered the hut just then, her barmaid uniform crumpled and stained.

“You doin’ okay?” her voice was tired, but she began removing her apron and undoing the laces that held her cleavage. “Nervous?”

Ian rubbed his eyes blearily and looked at the gentle, sympathetic smile on his sister’s face. She would be getting boots first as soon as he could make them.

“Nah, Fi, just tired. Didn’t sleep well.” He was telling the truth. He had spent most of the night worrying about the day ahead and he had no nerves left to dwell on now. He had been feeling so much worse this time than last, probably because he was going to the palace alone. Fiona ran a hand through his unruly hair and leaned down to press a quick kiss to his head.

“Good luck, sweetface.” She turned and headed into the room she shared with Debbie, probably to nap until sunrise before she had to go to her second job. He smiled at her retreating back and watched as her worn hands pulled at the fabric of her uniform. He stood and tiptoed out of the hut, trying not to wake Lip, who had a full day of lessons planned out. He passed Debbie and Carl in the yard on his way to the dirt path that lead to the river. The teens were doing their chores, Debbie caring for the livestock and Carl tending the crops. Their garden was small but bountiful, it provided them corn and grains. Both made a good staple during the winters.

When Ian arrived at the river, he stripped quickly and waded into the chilling water. The bath he intended to take would be shorter than last week’s, as he planned to leave for the castle earlier. He scrubbed at the dirt and sticky dried sweat with his calloused hands quickly and dipped his head in the water, coming up from being submerged with his nose toward the sky in hopes that the water would push his hair out of his eyes. He wiped the water from his eyes and gave himself one last sniff before he climbed back onto the shoreline. He dressed quickly, keeping his dagger at his hip and making sure his clothes were straightened and lacking as many wrinkles as possible. He hastily made his way down the path to the market street where he found Rowan waiting with the same black horse as last time. The old man squeezed his shoulder lovingly and tapped his cheek with the pads of his rough fingers. Ian took the reins from him and slung himself into the saddle. He felt the pride rolling off his mentor as he rode off towards the palace.

When he got there, he did not raise his expectations for the interior of the castle. He greeted the guards, introducing himself and stating his duties, before he surrendered his dagger, collected his supplies, and crossed the marble steps. The huge door opened slower this time, but he crossed the threshold quickly and froze in place in the same spot he and Rowan had.

Amanda was quicker to gather him this time, smiling softly this time. She schooled her features quickly, looking as if she had just committed a crime. He smiled back at her, relishing in her beauty. Her dress was different today, it was a deep green with a black bodice and no netted floral fabric to be seen. Her pale breasts were on display, her collarbones exposed to the world. The dress was as long as the other, the hem grazing the tops of her feet in her high heels. The sleeves were shorter, stopping at her forearms. Her hair wasn’t braided today, instead it flowed freely down her back and Ian saw for the first time that she had bangs that framed her pointed face.

“Nice to see you, Amanda.” He greeted, he felt safe greeting her this way for some reason he couldn’t understand. She proved that he was correct in this assumption when a smile broke across her face and she laughed a light and airy sound.

“Just call me Mandy, God, only my father calls me Amanda.” Her voice took on a husky effect, and she tilted her head slightly. His face heated up in response, and he nervously tugged at his collar.

“No uh..?” he said dumbly as he gestured to where the netted fabric had been on her previous dress.

“Lace? Nah, none today. Did you like it? I could wear it next time if you want…” Ian didn’t even register her obvious flirt, too excited to learn a new meaning to the word ‘lace’.

“Lace! So that’s what that netted fabric with the patterns is called!”

His face heated up with embarrassment when she let out another laugh, not light and airy like the last, but genuine and a little screechy if you asked him. He decided he liked the sound of Mandy’s laugh.

“C’mon, his royal highness Mickey awaits.” She said when she finished laughing, hooking her arm through his and starting off in the same direction as last time. Ian couldn’t tell if she was joking when she called the prince ‘his royal highness’, so he asked for clarification. She cackled and said “Please call him that, he hates it so much. Don’t worry, I’ll be there to protect you and laugh in his face.”

The rest of their walk through the castle was spent making jokes and laughing, and Ian felt very strange about the whole interaction. If her father was to be feared, why was she so kind and amusing? He worried silently that it was a trap, but he was reassured that it wasn’t when she tripped over her heels and took them off, opting to carry them the rest of the way. When they reached the same doors to the throne room as last time, Ian felt resentful toward the fact that he couldn’t continue to spend time with Mandy. His nerves welled up in his gut as he froze outside the door, Mandy stopping just as she was about to knock on the wood.

“Relax, it’s just my brother in there. My father is sleeping off a hangover in his quarters.” She reassured. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. This was happening so often he was going to have to start reminding himself to breathe when he got stressed. She skipped knocking and just pulled the door open, stepping in and bowing sarcastically. Ian bowed too, but with legitimacy because he was a peasant in the throne room, and he couldn’t bring himself to disrespect the prince.

“Ian Gallagher to tend to his royal highness’ footwear.” He couldn’t hold back the smirk that graced his lips as he stood mid-bow.

“You whore, did you tell him to say that?” the gruff voice across the room said, and Mandy cackled from next to Ian. The redhead straightened his spine, taking in the sight of the prince sprawled out across his father’s chair. One of his legs was hiked up on an armrest, the other straight out on the floor diagonal from the rest of his body. Ian noticed that his tunic was identical to the previous one although a different colour. It was a deep red instead of black, his belt was black leather today with the same silver buckle. His sword was attached to the hip that was halfway out of the chair and his boots glinted in the light. Ian felt confused, if his boots were still shining this way, why was he there to shine them? Ian chalked it up to royalty just being finicky about their shoes. His eyes were drawn back to the prince’s face, his very kissable lips were pulled into a teasing smirk. Ian’s brain ground to a halt. Did he just call the crown prince’s lips kissable?

“Just call me Mickey, firecrotch.” His voice was dripping with arrogance and Ian felt heat rise to his face but also rush lower. The prince shifted in his seat, so he was sitting upright but maintained the arrogant spread of his black-clad legs. Ian’s eyes shot downward and skimmed over the other man’s spread legs before they returned to his face, and even more of his blood rushed downward. He clenched his eyes shut and breathed deeply for a few breaths until the heat in his crotch dissipated. When he reopened his eyes, he caught sight of the prince making a ridiculous face at Mandy, who was sticking her tongue out in return. An easy smile spread across Ian’s face as he relished in the fact that siblings from all walks of life seemed to banter the way he and his siblings did.

Ian began to empty his satchel for the job at hand, and when he was ready, he politely asked for permission to approach the throne. Mickey grinned and made a face that said something like ‘obviously, fool’ and Ian’s face got warm again. The redhead kneeled at the prince’s feet, arranging his tools in the way he liked to have them. A scruffy blonde man entered the throne room just then, a basin of warm water in hand. Ian froze in his kneeled position and bowed his head.

“Knock next time, fucker! Or I’ll shove my sword down your fat fucking throat” Mickey barked, playfully throwing what looked like a knickle at the man. The man scratched at his beard, looking contemplative.

“Looks like the only thing of yours in a throat is your dick in the servant’s.” A huge grin spread across the blonde’s face and his slightly crooked teeth were exposed. Mandy cackled from where she had made a home in the right-hand chair. When did she sit down? Ian wasn’t sure. Ian was afraid to look up from where he was bowed, so he stayed staring at Mickey’s boots from his position nearly between the man’s legs. Oh. Ian could understand where the blonde would get that idea. Mickey flipped his middle finger at the man, scowling aggressively. He just got another laugh in return to his threatening expression. Ian was beginning to wonder who this man was, and if he wasn’t another royal sibling.

“Iggy, wanna get your shoes shined? It’s on Mickey.” Mandy chimed in, “Ian, this is our stupid brother, Iggy. You don’t have to bow to him since he’s not an heir.” Her tone was playful, and Ian could hear the smirk on her face.

“Hey! Quit actin’ like you guys are better than me!” Was this man pouting? Ian couldn’t help but wonder.

“Did you hear her, gingersnap? You don’t have to bow.” Mickey’s voice cut through Ian’s thoughts and he flinched before slowly sitting back on his heels. Iggy was pulling up a significantly less fancy chair, clearly intending to take Mandy up on her offer. At least his boots looked rugged enough to need a polish. Mickey scoffed in his direction.

“What? Pops was too cheap to get me an’ Mandy’s done last time, so you’re gonna spoil us, you fuckin’ brat.” Ian was sure he had never heard such dirty language before. Sure, he and his family swore here and there, but this was just unheard of. The fact that it was royalty made it even more shocking. Mickey rolled his eyes at his brother.

“Ey, shitheads, I didn’t decide to be next in line, fuck you very much!” This confused Ian, Iggy was clearly much older than Mickey, so how could Mickey be next in line, but Iggy wasn’t even an heir? Mandy must’ve noticed the confusion on his face, because she chimed in with some context.

“Our father isn’t actually royal blood, you see. Iggy, Mick, me and our other three brothers Collin, Jamie, and Joey all have the same father. But Mick and me have the same Mother, and her father was the last King. He was gentle, ya know? When he died, our mother took over the throne, but she was only in power for a few months before she…” Mandy hesitated, sharing tense looks with her brothers, “died. Now our father is the King, and the only heirs are Mick and me. Our father would rather kill me himself than allow me to be queen, though, so he only grooms Mickey to take over.” Ian nodded along with her explanation and felt relieved when he finally understood what was going on.

“Uh, Mandy. It’s ‘Mick and I’” Iggy mocked, sticking his tongue out.

“Shut up, you’re just jealous you never learned to read.” Mandy retorted. Ian blushed; he couldn’t read very well either. Uncomfortable with the topic, Ian changed it.

“So,” he looked at the three siblings, “Who first?”

Iggy ended up going first, knowing his rugged and tattered boots would end up taking the longest to polish. As Ian worked, he listened to the siblings banter back and forth and even chimed in a few times. When he finished, Iggy left to go finish some chores. Ian figured out that because Jamie, Joey, Collin, and Iggy were bastard children, they were left to do all the servant work. The King was too cheap to hire staff for the palace, and suddenly the state of the castle made a lot more sense to Ian. The boys only cleaned the parts of the castle that the King set foot in. Mandy went next, and Ian was excited to service her high heels. They were nicely made and well cared for, and it was very satisfying to hear the clack of her heel every time he set her foot down. It didn’t take very long to polish her shoes, and when he finished, she stood, and her dress settled on the floor. She was off to the kitchens to make dinner. She promised she would return to take him back to the door he entered, and with that, she was gone, the door to the throne room closed behind her. Ian had learned that the King was misogynistic and treated Mandy like a servant even though she was technically royalty. He was beginning to wonder what the Queen had seen in the tyrant. Mandy’s departure left Ian and Mickey alone in the room.

Ian cared for Mickey’s boots the same he had last time, but this time he was less focused on his work. His mind kept drifting to how he was positioned between the man’s legs, one of his feet elevated in Ian’s palm over a small stool that hadn’t been provided before, the other leg sprawled next to Ian. The more he thought about what was resting between those legs so close to him, the more heat rushed down his front. He continuously had to breathe his way out of getting hard in his very tight pants. The redhead greased the buckle of each boot, digging out his dust rag to buff the final bit. The boots were still in very good shape when he got there, so the process hadn’t taken very long. Still, he found himself casually chatting with Mickey as he waited for Mandy to accompany him back to the entrance. Ian was still sitting on the steps leading to the throne, facing the door, his supplies packed into his satchel. Mickey had his damn legs spread still, and it was taking everything out of the redhead not to gawk at the black clad hunks of muscle next to him. Mickey was staring down at him from the throne with a strange look on his face, and Ian felt that he was being scrutinized. Royalty probably never saw dirty peasants so close before. They weren’t talking about anything important, just Ian’s work and his newfound boot-crafting skill.

Mandy entered the room a short time later, after silence had befallen the two men. She carried a tray; two white plates on it that were piled with food, along with a small, white ceramic pitcher and two cups. Ian’s stomach grumbled, and he wished more than anything that he could eat that much food at a given time. She smiled at him, kneeling on the steps next to him with the tray in her lap. Ian eyed the dishes curiously and with wonder; he had never seen dishes so fancy before.

“Pops wasn’t in a very merry mood.” She said to no one in particular, setting the cups down. They were clear, and Ian couldn’t stop himself from picking one up to look through it. It was heavier than expected, and cool to the touch. He flushed with humiliation as he realized how foolish he probably looked, with the cup brought up so close to his eyes. He set the cup down quickly and bowed his head to the brunettes next to him.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have-!”

“Relax, you can touch them. It’s called a glass. It’s made from the same stuff windows are made from.” Mandy cut him off, a soft smile gracing her features as she grabbed the pitcher and filled the glasses with water. She handed a glass back to Ian, who held it at arms length in both hands.

“Drink from it, I brought it for you!” Mandy pressed, and Ian’s heart warmed in his chest.

“I-I couldn’t possibly-“

“Just drink, man.” Mickey’s voice cut in from behind them, and Ian looked up at him over his shoulder, his cheeks heating. Mickey’s face was soft like Mandy’s, a gentle smile gracing his plump lips. Ian looked back to Mandy, who was nodding encouragingly. He took a deep breath, feeling like he was about to commit a crime by drinking from a royal glass. He brought the glass to his lips and took a ginger sip. He must’ve looked like an idiot, because his face broke out into pure wonder and amazement. The water tasted so clean, so pure. The cups at the hut were made of some sort of metal and the water always tasted tinny. If it weren’t for the tastes of rain he had gotten in his childhood, he would’ve thought all water tasted naturally tinny. But this water was so clean! Mandy and Mickey’s respective giggle and chuckle brought Ian out of his shock.

“Here, I brought this for you, too.” She set a plate in his lap, and he nearly let it fall. She leaned to catch it just in time, though, laughing at his surprise. It was very heavy compared to the thin pieces of tin he was used to eating from. The plate had what looked to be a large chicken leg on it, accompanied by something brown and grainy. There was a variety of colourful vegetables next to the pile of brown, and Ian’s stomach growled. As his fingers approached the plate, Mandy stopped him. He was a little scared that it was just a joke, and he worried that she was going to snatch the plate back and eat what was on it in front of him. He nervously glanced back at Mickey, who had a nearly identical plate of his own in his lap.

“It’s okay,” she said reassuringly “I just wanted to give you these.” She handed over two, long, silver things. He held them, staring at his reflection in the silver. These were polishable. One of the things was long and sharp, and he recognized it as a knife. The other was pronged. It had four prongs, so it was like a very small pitchfork.

“It’s a fork and knife. You use ‘em to eat.” Mickey said over a mouthful of meat. He held his silver things up to show Ian. “They’re called cutlery, or utensils, or silverware. Watch.” Ian stared as he watched Mickey hold the meat down with his fork while he cut into it with the knife. He watched as Mickey stabbed into the cut meat with the prongs of the fork, before he brought it up to his lips to eat. He used the side of the fork to scoop up some of the pile of brown and the vegetables before he brought that to his mouth too.

Ian tried his best to mimic what Mickey did, but he made a bit of a mess down the front of his tunic. Mickey and Mandy both smiled amusedly as he picked and ate every bit of brown that spilled into his lap with his fingers.

“What is this?” he asked, holding his forkful of brown up to his new teachers.

“Rice.” They said in unison. Ian nodded, shoving the forkful into his mouth and swallowing. He drank from his glass messily, water dripping down his chin. “it’s an imported grain, so I guess it makes sense that they don’t sell it at the market.” Mandy added. When Ian had scraped his plate clean into his gullet, he sat back, fuller than he had ever been in his entire life. Using cutlery had been awkward, he was so used to using his bare hands that he fumbled the whole time. Mickey and Mandy didn’t belittle him once, just offered helpful tips for how to make it easier. He thanked them profusely for the meal, and even tried to deny payment for his services that day. Mickey just scoffed, grumbled something about that being an insult to the profession, and handed him a handful of coins. Ian counted them, his eyes widening with each number. Ten nockels and five knickles. He shook his head adamantly, trying to hand the money back to Mickey.

The dark-haired man leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees. His face was inches from Ian’s, and the redhead thought he was going to take the absurd amount of money back. Instead, Mickey just wrapped his hands around Ian’s outstretched palm. His small, cool fingers closed around Ian’s, curling the freckled digits around the coins.

“Listen and listen close. You did a great job today, and you earned this money. Take it, buy something nice or don’t, I don’t care. You deserve this money.” His voice wasn’t as gruff as Ian was expecting, and he could feel Mickey’s warm breath fanning over his cheeks. The prince sounded genuine, and his eyes bore into Ian’s for a few seconds, his eyebrows raised, waiting for agreement. Ian gulped and nodded, his eyes never leaving those nearly luminescent blue irises. Mickey’s eyebrows fell back down his forehead, and his expression seemed more adoring. Ian figured that was Mickey’s look of pity. One of the smaller hands unclasped from around Ian’s, the other still holding his wrist, and it patted his knuckles that were still clutching the coins. Mickey let go of his hand and Ian resented the feeling of the missing presence. The dark-haired man leaned back, a faint smile of contentment on his lips. A moment of silence passed between the three of them before Mandy’s voice cut through the quiet like a sharp knife through butter.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you out.” Her voice was soft, not pressuring, like he could say no and she would listen. He gathered his satchel and threw it over his shoulder as he stood, bowing in thanks to the prince before Mandy looped her arm through his and lead them out the door. The walk was quiet this time, as compared to the lighter atmosphere from earlier. Ian focused on the sound of her heels clacking on the marble through the thin carpet on the floor and found comfort he didn’t know he needed.

“It’s true, you know,” Her voice was soft, so soft, so earnest. He didn’t really know to what she was referring, so he remained silent as they walked, “you do deserve the money. You’re an amazing craftsman.”

“Why are you so nice to me?” He asked, and he hated how quiet and fearful his voice sounded.

“Because. Before my Father met my Mother, he was lower class too. You guys have it so hard already, and I think that’s where my Father got his vile parenting methods from. Don’t get me wrong! Not all peasants are as shitty as my father, I’m just saying I have an idea as to how hard it really is.” She responded, and Ian listened silently.

“My dad wasn’t that great as a parent, either.” That was the only thing he could think to say that didn’t press her for details but left room for her to open more if she wanted to.

“Sometimes, when my Father drinks too much ale, he stomps around the castle looking for me. Thinks I’m my Mother.” She admitted quietly. Ian could swear he almost vomited his heart; it thudded so hard in his gut. He tightened his arm through hers, a silent support. She shook her head and smiled sadly, her eyes dragging up to meet his out of her peripheral. He gazed back, swallowing at the lump in his throat.

“I like you, Ian. You’re kind and gentle. Never met a man like you before.” Her eyes were sad as she spoke “but I get the sense that you like, uh, princes more than princesses.” He froze in place, eyes wide. Did the crown princess just admit her crush but out his homosexual tendencies in the same breath? He immediately broke out in a sweat, pulled his arm away, and prepared to sprint from the palace.

“Oh! No! Don’t worry! Your secret is safe with me! I don’t care!” she turned to face him and tried to reassure him, but it took a little longer than he would have liked for the hairs on the back of his neck to relax and for the sweat to stop cooling his skin. When he was looking less like he would bolt at any second, the corner of Mandy’s mouth upturned slightly, and her soft, pale hands reached out to hold his biceps. “Just promise me that if you ever want to try, you know, princesses, I’ll be your first choice.” She leaned in, pressed her lips to his cheek, and turned to wrap around his arm again and continue through the castle. He laughed, nodded, and continued next to her, immensely relieved. Ian trusted Mandy, and he was worried by that. The royal family was turning out to be a lot more complicated than he originally thought, and while that scared him, it also brought him great relief. He appreciated the fact that they weren’t all spoiled brats, so used to the silver spoon that he was nothing but scum beneath their polished boots. Even the siblings who legitimately were born into money were down to Earth and kind to him, and he appreciated it. He still had a nagging worry at the back of his brain, though; built in from a lifetime of being taught not to trust a word the royal family said ever since the Tyrant took over.

When Ian returned to the hut, his place at the table was already set. His stomach still felt full, so he told his family that they could have his portion. Excitement broke out across the room as Debbie, Carl, and Liam all jumped for his plate. Fiona and Lip were looking at him with concern. He dropped his satchel onto the floor, crossed the room, and ruffled Carl’s hair before dropping a casual kiss to it without much thought. Carl looked slightly offended, but his excitement over the extra food took precedence in his mind. Ian dropped into his spot at the table heavily and looked to Fiona and Lip.

“Already ate.” He said simply, watching the expressions on Lip and Fiona’s faces. They looked at each other, both with their fingers suspended in mid air above their plates. Fiona looked back to Ian.

“Stopped at Rowan’s?” she asked casually, but he could sense the concern in her tone.

“Nah, the prince and princess fed me.” He said, leaning back in his seat to amusedly watch the different emotions cross his older siblings’ expressions.

“The- the prince and princess gave you food? And you accepted it?” Fiona sounded baffled and worried, and he could hear her preparing a lecture in her head right at that moment.

“Yep.” He responded, his eyes drifting toward his younger siblings, who were still cramming their fingers into their mouths.

“Ian, you shouldn’t have done that! What If they were trying to poison you?” Fiona scolded, Lip nodding along next to her, his blue eyes trained on his younger brother.

“Relax, Fi. I’m fine! The prince ate it too. They are very kind to me.” He tried to reassure, but she did not look convinced.

“Ian, the royal family is not kind! They are cruel and rude and- and-!” she was too flustered to finish her sentence and Lip picked up where she left off, albeit a little calmer.

“We’re just worried, man. You get it.” that was all Lip really had to say for Ian to nod in agreement.

“I do understand, but you don’t know the heirs. They are much kinder than their father. They’re funny and sweet and they taught me to use cutlery and they gave me clean water in these clear cups and-“

“Ian, you do not know them!” Fiona cut him off, and he rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

“Maybe not, but they treated me like a person! They introduced me to their brother and they told me about their mother and-“

“I don’t think you should keep goin’ back, Ian. They’re not good people.” Ian was getting tired of Fiona interrupting him, but he took a deep breath and ground out his next sentence through his teeth.

“How would you guys like to be judged based on what Frank and Monica did? Huh? How would you like it if everyone assumed that we were no-good lunatics just because they were? If we aren’t our parents, Mickey and Mandy aren’t their father.” He got up from his spot, snatching his satchel from the floor, and stormed out of the hut.

“Where are you goin’?!” Fiona shouted after him, sounding harried.

“Getting some air, your highness!” he called back through the door. He started down the path to the riverbank before he could think about it, letting his feet take him where they needed to go. He only stopped when he reached a boulder large enough to hold him and he sat down heavily on it, resting his feet on a slightly smaller boulder nearby that was partially submerged in water. His fingers fidgeted with his dagger sheath until it unclasped, and he drew the weapon slowly. He turned the silver in his hands, running his fingertips along the edge of the blade gently. He flipped it and lowered the sharp edge into the water, absentmindedly tracing shapes in the stream. His knees were bent high enough that he could rest one arm across them, his chin balanced on the crook of his elbow while the other arm continued to draw circles in the water. His eyes followed the tip of the dagger as it swirled in the river, twisting and distorting the reflections of the stars above. His mind took its time processing his frustrations, revelling in the feeling of fear that welled up in his chest when he thought about the royal heirs possibly betraying him. He knew that he barely knew the pair, but something in his gut was telling him that they were trustworthy and that they were genuinely decent people who were dealt a shit hand in the familial department. Ian knew something about that.

His mom, Monica, was a headcase. The holy powers believed she was touched by god, but the healers believed she was head sick. She liked to run off to other villages for years at a time, only returning when she needed something from her children. She died years ago, and nobody knew why. One day a man on a horse from a few villages over came to the hut to tell the Gallagher children that their mother hadn’t woken up. They didn’t even bury her, her body too far away to make a trip for. The kids were just too young. Ian didn’t even know where her corpse ended up, just that he would never see her again. They were close, Ian and Monica. None of the other Gallagher children really understood their relationship, and Ian didn’t really understand it either. He just felt a connection to their mother that his siblings didn’t feel.

His dad, Frank, was a cheap old drunk who got executed by King Terry for tax evasion. The taxes in the village were extremely high, each household was responsible to pay five knickles for each occupant every two weeks. There were six kids, so that made for three nockels, plus Frank’s five knickles. He was executed when he was still the Gallagher’s head of house, therefore responsible for paying the tax, even though he had never really acted like he had any responsibility to the children. When he was hanged, he owed over twenty nockels to the King. They brought him out to the arena, north of the palace, and hanged him in front of the kingdom’s peasants. A warning of sorts, Ian thought. He didn’t really care much for Frank. The old bastard would hit him at every chance he got, and Ian thought good riddance, lest he get aggressive with any of the younger kids.

He was shaken from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps approaching. He didn’t feel threatened by the presence, and he expected Lip to sit down on the boulder next to him. Needless to say, he was extremely surprised when he looked up and saw the crown prince of the kingdom next to him.

“What are you doin’ out here this late? Shouldn’t you be at home with your family drinking out of tin cups or some shit?” Mickey’s voice was gruff, but Ian could hear the concern in his tone.

“I could ask you the same thing. ‘Cept it would be glass cups in your case.” Ian didn’t move his chin from his elbow or his eyes from the dagger as he continued to swirl it in the water.

“Needed to think. Can’t think at the palace.” Mickey said, his hand coming up to scratch at his raised brow.

“Fought with my brother and sister.” Ian said glumly, rolling his neck a little to look at Mickey but keeping his head down on his elbow.

“Yeah? What about?” Mickey asked, and Ian smiled softly at the awkwardness of Mickey rubbing at his mouth, his eyebrows somehow creeping higher.

“They said you and Mandy are like your dad.” Ian didn’t miss the way Mickey’s face fell.

“Yeah? How do you know they’re wrong?” The prince’s voice was soft, so soft, so hesitant. The corner of Ian’s mouth turned upward as he dragged his eyes up to the stars.

“I just know. I can feel it.” and he hoped Mickey knew he meant it. The brunet scoffed, scrubbing a hand around his mouth and tilting his head downward toward the water. They sat in silence for a beat before Ian asked, “Whatcha need to think about?”

A small smile broke across Mickey’s face as he stared out across the river. His hands fidgeted with his face in a mixture of rubbing and scratching before he looked back at Ian. Their eyes met, and Ian swore that he could see the stars shining in the other man’s eyes. Mickey’s hand came up to pull at the black hair at the nape of his neck.

“don’t wanna be king.” He finally admitted, looking to Ian to gauge his reaction. Ian nodded slowly and turned his eyes back to the water. That seemed to be enough of a response for Mickey.

“I just don’t want the responsibility of all the people on my shoulders, ya know?” his thumb rubbed at the corner of his mouth as he leaned back on the other hand that was splayed behind them on the boulder. Ian nodded again. He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to know what that weight must feel like on Mickey’s shoulders. He looked back to the dagger tip in the water. More silence fell between them for a few heartbeats.

“Nice knife. Can I see?” A small, pale hand was outstretched. Ian pulled the dagger from the water and placed the handle in Mickey’s cool palm. His fingers closed around it and he held it up in front of his face for inspection. Ian watched in amusement as he flipped it a few times and made some swishing motions through the air. “Nice.” The prince commented before he handed it back to Ian. The redhead smiled and gave a short nod, sliding the dagger back into its sheath on his hip.

“Can I see your sword?”

Mickey laughed, his eyes crinkling up around the edges. Ian thought maybe he liked those crinkle lines a little bit. Mickey’s hands fell to his belt, his right hand wrapping around the hilt of his longsword where it was fastened to his left hip. He unsheathed it quickly, clearly making a show of it, before he held out the handle for Ian to take in his large hand. His fingers wrapped around the metal, warm from Mickey’s grasp, and he let out a laugh when he realized his hand was too big for the short hilt,

“Shut the fuck up, it’s custom made.” The prince said around a laugh, looking at Ian’s oversized hand on his sword. Ian gave it some practice swings before he handed It back carefully. Mickey sheathed it as quickly as he had unsheathed it.

“I’ve never used a longsword before. Think I’d make a good warrior?” the redhead asked absently.

“You’re definitely built like one, man.” Mickey admitted with a chuckle. Ian laughed too, and they fell into a companionable silence. Ian wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the silence was broken again. All he knew was that he had been the one to break it.

“Thanks. You know, for being so kind.”

The corner of Mickey’s mouth turned up and he looked away from Ian’s face. He shrugged his shoulders before he responded, “It’s no problem, man. Don’t want my asshole father’s name to hover over me for the rest of my damn life. Rather be like my mom, ya know?” Ian nodded. He did know.

They made eye contact again in the darkness, and now Ian could see the crescent-shaped moon in Mickey’s eyes. He felt heat rush up to his face and down to his nether regions simultaneously, and it took everything in him to look away. Luckily, Mickey was fighting to look away too. The prince stood, offering a hand for Ian to take. Ian grasped it, and stood to his feet in front of Mickey, both still balancing on the boulder. The look they shared spoke clearer than real words could; ‘this stays between us and us only’. Mickey turned, hopped off the boulder, and stalked off into the woods. Ian did the same, disappearing down the dirt path that would lead him back to the hut. As he made his way back, he heard the unmistakable sound of a horse whinnying from the woods in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said before, this was quite a long chapter compared to the previous ones. I just couldn't find a spot to split it that made sense, so you get the whole thing! I hope you enjoyed! Please excuse my inconsistent formatting, I will go through at the end and fix it. Please leave a comment or kudos and let me know how I'm doing!  
> Have a great week!  
> -Ash


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I went too hard with the word count in this chapter yet again. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! PLEASE NOTE THE TAG CHANGES! SOME TRIGGERING THINGS ARE COMING! (No actual rape, I promise!)

Another week passed and Ian found himself walking stiffly next to Lip down market street. They hadn’t fully recovered from their spat, but they still needed food to eat so they managed a truce for the trip. Fiona hadn’t fully forgiven him either, but she took a less asshole-ish approach, instead staring at him with worry in her big brown eyes when she thought he wouldn’t notice. Ian knew how much money they had this week, the majority coming from his trip to the palace. He did keep some of it for himself, however selfish that may seem. He was saving up to buy an abundance of boot leather so he could put his new crafting skills to use. He really wanted his siblings to have something reliable to wear on their feet, even if the boots he had made so far with Rowan weren’t exactly pretty.

“Ten nockels and six knickles.” Lip said simply, not offering any room for other conversation. Just as the brothers were about to part ways, a commotion further ahead drew their attention.

“No! Please! I need to get back to my children! Please! Don’t do this!” a woman was on her knees in the dirt, her head bowed at the feet of a castle guard. The guard had no pity or empathy in his eyes as he raised his massive axe in the air.

“Dirty peasant! How dare you steal from the King!? How dare you disrespect his merchants?!” he shouted, grasping the handle of his axe tighter.

“Please! Please! I’ll never steal again! I promise!” the woman was crying, begging, kissing the guard’s feet. Ian and Lip were frozen to the spot, their hearts pounding in their chests. Ian felt his mouth watering and his jaw clenching, a clear indicator that he was about to vomit. His eyes raced around, taking in the group of commoners that stood in a circle around the unfolding debacle. Everyone was silent, staring, unmoving. Why wasn’t anyone helping her?

“By order of Royal Decree number twenty-four, instated by King Terry Milkovich, I hereby sentence you to immediate death by execution!” and with that, all Ian heard was a sob from the weeping woman on the ground and the sound of an axe slinging through the air, followed by the crunch of metal slicing through bone. The guard picked up the woman’s decapitated head and held it up for the crowd to see.

“This,” he turned, showing the head to everyone “is what happens when you steal from the market.” He threw the head on the ground next to the lifeless body, and Ian turned around to throw up. He heard the life of the other commoners start to seep back into the street, people seemingly turning away to continue with their lives like it was normal to see someone get murdered in the streets. Ian supposed it was normal. It still disgusted him every time someone stepped over her corpse, avoiding the pool of blood that was saturating the dirt. He looked to Lip, who appeared just as shocked as he felt. The chatter of some women caught his attention as he recovered from his shock. He was still staring at Lip, who’s eyes were wide and wouldn’t leave his own.

“Yeah, she lived two streets east in the hut with the broken gate.” That was the only snippet of the conversation that Ian caught. They stood in silence for awhile in the middle of the street while people bustled around them. Ian saw the tears gathering in his brother’s eyes before they met each other for a rib-crushing hug. Ian’s hand was clenched in his brother’s cloak, Lip’s arms were tight around his shoulders, his hand clutching Ian’s bicep. They didn’t need to speak about what they were both feeling. It was thick in the air around them; ‘that could have been us.’

When they parted a few minutes later, Lip was wiping at his cheeks and they both avoided looking in the direction of the dark spot on the ground. Someone had moved the woman’s body in the last ten minutes, but both men were too dazed to notice when it happened. Regret and fear churned in Ian’s gut. When they shopped that day, they bought double of everything. They could afford their usual portion and the extra, thanks to the abundance of money they had for the weekly budget. The pair seemed to be in sync when they started east from the market street, counting two streets before turning. They walked until they found a hut with a broken gate and stood outside, staring. A group of children Liam’s age and younger were playing in the yard of the home. A man sat in the hut with a royal guard, and Ian could see the moment -through the solitary window as they stood in the street- that the man’s world ended. His face crumpled, he slumped forward. His body shook with sobs as the guard got up to leave, a sadistic smile on his face. It was the very guard who had just decapitated the woman in the street, Ian would never forget his empty eyes.

The guard passed them, and Ian didn’t look in his direction. Lip didn’t either, both too scared to be confronted. The redhead swallowed hard and took a few steps forward when the guard was out of sight. He shifted through his cloak pockets, pulling some apples and cherries and corn from them. He got the attention of one of the older children in the yard, and he leaned down, getting on eye level with the boy.

“These are for you. Your mother asked us to give them to you.” He handed the confused child the food in his hands, stood up straight, and ruffled the boy’s dirty hair. The kid was clearly baffled but didn’t say anything as he turned and went into the hut, food clutched in his skinny arms. Ian and Lip turned and left, then. They didn’t want to be acknowledged for what they did by the child or his father. They walked in silence all the way back to their hut, eyes stuck to their respective feet as they went. When they entered the building, it was like Fiona could see something wrong with her brothers, her brown eyes wide and worry filled. Both men crumpled to the floor, sobbing and weeping miserably. They leaned on each other, clutched each other’s clothes, dripped snot onto cloaks and in hair. Fiona kneeled on the floor next to them, not understanding, but wanting to help. She wrapped her arms around her brothers and kissed their hair, holding them tightly until they were all cried out. The three were silently grateful that Debbie, Carl, and Liam were in the backyard tending crops and livestock rather than witnessing the mess that the older three had become on the dirty floor of their decrepit home.

When Ian finally made it out of the hut to get to the shop, he was running quite late. He knew that Rowan would understand his tardiness once he told him about the woman, but he still felt guilt building up in his gut about leaving the old man to his own devices for too long. Rowan must’ve seen it in his face, because when he entered the shop, he came around the table between them and put his wrinkled hand on Ian’s shoulder in reassurance. The redhead couldn’t help but wonder just how obvious his emotions were at a given time, and he hoped silently that Mickey couldn’t read the adoration in his eyes that he felt when he looked at him.

“The prince must really like you.” Rowan said, thankfully leaving the topic of Ian’s misery untouched. “He asked you back again for tomorrow.”

Ian couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. He was secretly hoping to get that new today. The day had been awful so far as it was, and this little piece of excitement lingered in his chest. He liked the royal siblings a lot. He enjoyed listening to them interact and talk and he appreciated the fact that they never treated him like a slave. Rowan smiled softly at him, his lips pulled and his gums nearly visible. He patted Ian’s shoulder once before hobbling off behind the table again.

“Okay, my boy, lets make some boots.”

When Ian arrived at the palace the next day, he did as he did the last two trips. Dismounted, greeted the guards, handed over his horse and dagger, and entered the castle to stand in his spot and wait for Mandy. The signature sound of her heels on the marble greeted his ears, and when she got close enough, she wrapped him up in a hug. He smiled, returned the hug gratefully, and when she stepped back, she looped her arm through his like last time. When she started leading him in a different direction than the last occasions, he voiced his confusion.

“Mick’s not in the throne room today.” She remarked simply as they continued down an unfamiliar corridor. It was just as dusty and uncared for as the others that he’d seen, and he was getting used to the shock that he felt every time they turned a corner to reveal more musty air and grimy windows. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, noting her bright green lips. They made lipstick in different colours? Her lips matched her dress quite well, it was emerald green and hugged her hips tightly even passed the corset before it fanned out over her feet. The sleeves were entirely made of lace, and a snake pattern curled around her arms as it got closer to her wrists. He liked the look. It was bold. Her heels were still shining from his last visit, and he smirked with pride as he brought his eyes back to look the direction they were heading.

They stopped outside a large oak door after what seemed like a tour through a maze of corridors and staircases. Ian expected Mandy to knock on the door, but she just grabbed the brass handle and opened it. They were halfway over the threshold when Ian froze, and the sound of Mickey shouting pierced his ears.

“Jesus Christ, you cunt, ever heard of fucking knocking?” his voice was aggressive and Mandy just rolled her eyes. Ian’s eyes were stuck on Mickey, though. He was half naked in the middle of the room, shirt off, doing his belt buckle up. His face was pink with embarrassment and he looked angrily at his sister.

“Oh whatever, you think I’ve never seen you shirtless before? Besides, it’s just Ian. He must live shirtless, what, with a body like that.” she winked in Ian’s direction and he flushed with heat. He reached up to scratch the back of his head, “I can come back in a few minutes, or just meet you in the throne room?” he offered, avoiding eye contact with either Milkovich as he took in his surroundings. The floor was the same white marble as the rest of the castle, but it was clean and freshly swept. There was a bed to the left of the doorway, and Ian was amazed by how comfortable it looked. It had rumpled, white sheets and a large, dark red blanket with two fluffy pillows at the head. The headboard was solid dark oak, carved with intricate floral designs. The four posts of the bed went almost as high as the ceiling, stopping short by about a head length and they met each other in a sort of cubic shape. From the beams that connected the posts hung long red drapes that matched the blanket exactly. An ottoman was next to the footboard of the bed, and Mickey’s wrinkled clothes lay strewn across it. In the far-right corner from the doorway, a dark oak chair with similar carved designs and dark red cushions sat empty with a piece of clothing thrown over the back. On the wall opposite from the bed, there was a small archway that looked to lead to a closet, but Ian couldn’t see far enough into it to know for sure. There was a large unlit chandelier hanging in the centre of the room, and Ian figured that it would take ages for someone to light all the candles in it. The window across the room ran from floor to ceiling, and the same shade of dark red curtains framed it elegantly. Overall, the room was magnificent, and Ian felt incredibly small and dirty in the presence of it.

“Nah, man. Its fine.” Mickey reassured, but Ian didn’t believe him. He felt like he was invading on something private. Mandy must have noticed the hesitance on his face, because she pulled him toward the oak chair and pushed him into it. She smoothed her dress, turned away from Ian despite his quiet and awkward protests, and clacked over to the door.

“I’ll bring lunch when it’s ready.” With that, she was gone, the door closing behind her, her heels echoing down the corridor. Mickey was still shirtless, and Ian couldn’t bare to look at him for fear of what he might feel. Still, he couldn’t help but feel the need to apologize.

“Sorry, about this. Don’t wanna impede on you.” He mumbled, still not looking at Mickey, who was sifting through some clothes in search of a shirt.

“Don’t worry about it, man. I asked her to bring ya up here anyway.” Ian looked at Mickey in surprise then, but now the dark-haired man was the one avoiding eye contact. “Didn’t wanna use the throne room today. The King has some meetings or some shit.” Mickey’s face was pink, his bottom lip between his teeth, and he finally pulled a tunic from the pile on the ottoman and slipped it on. Ian wished he could have looked a little, but it felt way too awkward to just sit and stare at his half-naked employer.

Ian stood from the chair Mandy had thrown him into and began to get his supplies ready. He didn’t think he would need to scrub Mickey’s boots today, seeing as they were still in very good condition. He opted to just do a touch up on the polish. He was about to kneel on the floor, but Mickey stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. Ian looked up, half crouched, in confusion before Mickey grabbed the chair Ian vacated and dragged it across the floor with a loud scraping noise. He arranged the chair so that it was next to the bed with some space left in between. He gestured for Ian to sit in it again, and the redhead looked at him with the same befuddled expression as he complied. The dark-haired prince sat himself on the edge of his bed and lifted his foot, setting it in Ian’s lap. The realization that Mickey was concerned about his comfort was not lost on Ian, and his face broke into a wide grin as his heart fluttered in his chest.

“Floor’s not very comfortable, no carpet in here.” Mickey supplied, scratching at his raised brow with his thumb as he tactfully avoided eye contact. Ian nodded, the smile not leaving his face as he dipped his linen in polish.

“Quit fuckin’ smilin’ like that.” Mickey grumbled, no heat in his voice as he continued to look anywhere but at Ian’s eyes. The redhead tried to stifle his grin, but it was an unsuccessful attempt. He turned to the foot in his lap and began rubbing the leather.

“You, uh, still fighting with your siblings or whatever?” the question was asked in a casual tone, but Ian felt that Mickey was genuinely curious.

“Nah,” Ian said, his eyes still focused on the boot in his palm, “somethin’ happened yesterday, really put shit in perspective.” He spoke as casually as possible as his hands massaged the leather that he was becoming too familiar with.

“Yeah?” Mickey asked, his interest piqued. “What was that?”

Ian grimaced at the memory, but he didn’t hesitate to confide in his royal friend. That’s what they were, right? Friends?

“Saw a woman get executed on market street. For stealin’.” He didn’t mention that he was also there to steal.

Mickey’s boot tore out of his lap as he stood up from his bed.

“You saw what?” and he sounded sincerely surprised. Ian looked up and his green eyes met angry blue. He didn’t know what about the story made Mickey so angry, so Ian reiterated.

“Lip an’ I were walkin’ down market street, and a guard like the ones here was yellin’ at a woman on the ground. She was cryin’, beggin’ really, but he said that she should never steal from the King, and then he cut her head off. Royal decree number twenty-four or somethin’.” The rage flared up in the sapphire orbs above him, and Ian caught himself cowering a little bit in fear. Regret flashed across the prince’s face as he sat back heavily on his bed.

“Shit, Ian, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he sounded pleading and regretful, and Ian sat up a bit straighter. “I’m just angry that a woman was killed for somethin’ like that. Does that happen often?”

“Yeah, sometimes.” Ian admitted quietly, worried Mickey would get angry again. He’d heard stories about peasants that were in the wrong place at the wrong time at the moment of a noble’s rage. Mickey’s hands reached up and began ripping at his dark hair aggressively. He was cursing under his breath, and his palms were digging into his eyes. Before Ian could stop and consider what he was doing, he stood and reached out, gently grabbing Mickey’s smaller hands and tugging them toward himself. His gut curled and churned as he realized just how much he hated to see Mickey hurting himself like that. Mickey looked just as shocked as he felt as he glanced up at Ian and then down at their joined hands, and up into the green irises again. Something happened in that moment, and neither man was sure what. Ian felt heat shooting from his fingertips where they held Mickey’s hands. The warmth spread up his arms, through his shoulders, down into his stomach, wrapped around his thighs, and didn’t stop spreading until the tips of his toes were tingling. Their eyes never left each other as Ian tightened the grip of one hand but released the other, bringing it up to wrap around the back of the prince’s neck as he slowly leaned down. Mickey eagerly leaned with the pressure of the other man’s large hand, and their lips met in the middle in the most searing kiss either had experienced. Although, Ian would later admit to this being his first kiss.

Their remaining hands parted and reached for each other desperately. Ian’s fingers clutched the back of Mickey’s tunic while the other hand gripped his neck, and the taller man could feel Mickey’s fingers getting lost in his own hair, the other hand fisted in the front of his tunic, pulling him ever closer. Ian leaned into Mickey, the other man buckling under the pressure and falling back onto the bed. Their lips didn’t part as Ian followed, situating himself on top of the prince but between his spread legs. Mickey’s mouth parted slightly, inviting Ian’s tongue to explore. Ian complied, his mouth parting against the dark-haired man’s, his tongue delving between those delicious pink lips. Mickey’s tongue met his, rubbing against each other playfully before the prince pushed into Ian’s mouth to get a taste. A soft moan escaped Ian’s throat as Mickey sucked lightly on his bottom lip, and Ian leaned in further to bite at the other man’s pillowy lips in return. They parted for air and their eyes met for a split second before they began moving frantically to undress each other. Mickey pulled at Ian’s tunic, trying to rip it from his skin as Ian tugged it over his head in one swift movement. Their lips collided again as Ian’s hands fumbled to push the other man’s tunic up over his chest, and they parted just long enough for Mickey to tear the offending clothing off. Bare chested, both men leaned into each other, craving skin to skin contact as their tongues battled and swirled against each other. When the pair needed air again, Ian leaned back and began fumbling at Mickey’s belt, fighting to get it undone to get the prize underneath. When the stubborn piece of leather finally gave way, Ian stepped off the bed and swiftly pulled Mickey’s pants down to his knees. Shit, the redhead thought. His fucking boots. He took one of the prince’s feet in his hands and slowly pulled at the boot. He could sense Mickey’s frustration with his slow pace, but his glare only thrilled Ian more as he tugged at the footwear. Once he finally pulled both boots off, he yanked the pants all the way to the floor in one movement. He stared down at the prince in awe; his legs were so pale and thick and muscly, his hips were boney and perfectly masculine, his abdominal muscles were well defined but still had a small layer of pudge surrounding them, his chest was broad and shoulders wide. Every inch of this man was beautiful, and Ian wanted to taste. He undid his own belt, knowing that if he didn’t do it now, he would be pissed when they had to stop again. His boots and pants were off faster than ever, and he climbed back onto the plush bed to straddle Mickey’s hips. His muscular arms caged the prince’s head in, his elbows resting on either side just above his shoulders. Ian’s eyes drank Mickey in; his flushed cheeks, his thick lips, his lust filled blue irises. The redhead couldn’t resist leaning down to recapture the other man’s lips.

The only thing stopping their hard, leaking cocks from rubbing against each other was their linen underwear. Still, Ian found himself grinding his hips down against Mickey’s hardness, desperate for the friction they both craved. His lips moved from the prince’s mouth to his strong, flexed jaw, planting wet and suction filled kisses in his wake. Ian’s never done this before, but it’s coming to him naturally, instinctively. It’s like his most primal urge, the most basic instinct in him is to make Prince Mickey Milkovich feel as good as possible; and judging by the sounds falling out of the other man’s throat, he’s doing a damn good job. His hands are shaking, but they found their way to clutch black hair, and Ian swears that even the bed they’re on isn’t as soft as the strands in his fingers. Mickey’s soft pants and grunts are like music to Ian’s ears, and he moves from his jaw further down his neck. His heart wants to go slow, to take his time, but his body wants him to hurry, to get to the important part, and he can’t muster up the power to deny it. He moves quickly, fumbling a little, down the bed to get to Mickey’s chest. The pale expanse of skin beneath the redhead is absolutely gorgeous, and he needs to try his hardest to make sure Mickey knows that. His hands found Mickey’s waist, and he grips it as he leans down to lick from collarbone the first pair of abs. A soft moan escaped the lips of the man above him, and Ian ground his hips against the edge of the bed in an attempt to relieve the pressure building in his body. He continued on his journey, licking from ab to ab with slow, tantalizing strokes. The muscles quivered beneath his ministrations and a smile broke across his face temporarily as he looked up to observe Mickey’s face. His eyes were staring down at Ian in a lust filled haze, his fingers were clutching the slopes of the redhead’s shoulders, his mouth was parted as small pants escaped his throat. It was a beautiful sight, and Ian needed more. He brought his tongue down to Mickey’s left hip, keeping his gaze locked to the prince’s, before slowly dragging his tongue toward the other hip. His chin grazed the bulge in Mickey’s underwear as he went, and the prince’s whole body broke into a pleasured shudder. Ian’s tongue met the other hip, and he stopped to suck at it, leaving a small, purple bruise as a sort of reminder.

“Jesus Christ, Ian, hurry the fuck up. I’m gonna come in my fucking pants.” Mickey’s voice was scratchy, and lust filled, and Ian’s cock twitched against the edge of the bed. His chin was at the level of Mickey’s pelvis, and he grinned as he moved further down the bed, his hands rubbing up and down Mickey’s hips and waist before they settled at his thighs. The redhead leaned down, pressing a kiss to the underwear where he knew there would be a nest of black pubes, shifting further to mouth over the bulge just below. He let out a hot breath, heating the fabric enough to make the prince groan aloud. His fingers snuck up to catch the waist of the garment, and he swiftly tugged them off without a moment’s notice. Mickey’s cock flew up, lightly smacking his tummy once it was released from it’s confines. Ian was very pleased at the sight of the plump, leaking cock in front of his face. The head was pink, shining with wetness, the shaft had a thick vein running along it. His foreskin was fully retracted, leaving the entire tip on display for Ian to lap at with the tip of his tongue. He cupped Mickey’s balls in one hand, shifting them around as he leaned closer to better access the cock before him. He took the tip into his mouth, sucking and licking at it the best he could, while still trying to focus on the prince’s expressions. Soon, he opened his throat and leaned in to take Mickey all the way to the hilt, his nose buried into those dark pubes, inhaling the heady scent of Mickey’s want. The prince’s whole body shuddered, his abs flexed, and his toes curled against Ian’s back muscles.

“Fuck,” the dark-haired man breathed out, “If you don’t stop, I’m gonna come” he warned, and Ian bobbed his head a few times teasingly before pulling off with a ‘pop’. His fingers wrapped around the hardened flesh to replace his mouth as he leaned up to press his lips hotly against Mickey’s, his tongue searching for the prince’s. One of his hands occupied with the other’s manhood, Ian’s other hand came up between their abdomens. The redhead pulled back, green eyes meeting blue as his freckled digits dragged over Mickey’s full lips salaciously, said lips parting and allowing entry. Mickey sucked at Ian’s fingers enthusiastically, and Ian felt a twitch in his pants as the hair on the back of his neck raised in excitement. He pulled his fingers from Mickey’s mouth, leaned back, and continued to stroke the prince’s cock with measure. His digits worked their way to the other man’s entrance, and he leans back down to kiss Mickey as his first finger breaches him. Mickey gasps slightly into the heated kiss, but his lips return with more fervour than before. Ian groans at the sensation of the muscled walls clenching around him, and he crooks his fingertip a bit in search of the spot in every man that promises immense pleasure.

Mickey’s body shuddered below him and a deep groan left his throat when the redhead found that spot. Ian added another finger as he leaned back to fumble his own drawers off, finally relieving some of the pressure built up in his groin. The dark-haired man looked down toward Ian’s length, and his eyes doubled in size as he took in the sight. He threw his head back in anticipation with a long moan. Ian can nearly feel his ego inflate at the reaction as he scissors his fingers to open Mickey up more. He’s about to add the third finger when the prince looks at him impatiently, eyes hazy with lust.

“Fuck, get on me already.” Ian knew a demand when he heard one, and he spits into the palm he just used to disrobe himself. His hand stroked his cock and curled around the tip and a gasp of pleasure escapes his lips. He flexed his fingers deep into the prince once or twice more, before extracting them and lining his cock up with Mickey’s entrance. His lips found Mickey’s once again for another passionate kiss as the tip of his dick began to breach the ring of muscle, a sharp gasp escaping the man below him as he worked his way in. He glides in and out slowly as he inched in further, and soon he bottomed out. Ian leaned over, burying his face in the crook of the other man’s neck.

“Jesus fuck, you’re so big,” the dark-haired man moaned out as Ian froze in place to allow him to get accustomed to the fullness, “Fucking move, holy shit.”

Ian complied as soon as he was given permission, and his thrusts started out slow and measured, just to ensure that Mickey wouldn’t be injured. He couldn’t stand the slow pace for very long, and picked up, rocking his hips against the prince’s perfect pale ass as fast as he could manage. Mickey keened beneath him, his pale hands clutching at Ian’s shoulders as his teeth dug into sharp collarbone hard enough to draw blood. Ian sucked a breath in through his teeth in pain, but the tightness and heat of the walls around his cock made it worth the hurt. He aimed his thrusts a little differently, in search of that spot once more. Mickey’s sweet sounds of pleasure grew louder, and his nails dug into Ian’s broad shoulders deeper, and the redhead knew he hit that place. He continued to thrust that way, and Mickey’s hand tore off his shoulder like it’d been burned, flying down to wrap around his own neglected and leaking cock between them. Ian could swear the prince only got three strokes in before he let out a moan loud enough to make the white hairs on his arms stand, warm stickiness splashing at his chest an instant later. The clenching of his lover’s muscles around his cock combined with the sound the other made was enough to send Ian over the edge without warning, and he had no time to pull out. He emptied himself inside of the prince, his thrusts erratic and slowing. He lifted his ginger head to look the prince in the eyes, but Mickey wouldn’t look back at him.

Ian leaned back, pulling out slow enough not to hurt the other man. He wanted sorely to lay on that bed, next to the prince, but he resisted as he started to pull his clothes back on instead. He didn’t even get one pant leg on before the prince spoke.

“Where ya goin’?” he sounded soft, so hesitant to ask. Ian’s heart thumped in his chest, and he wanted nothing more than to pull the other man into his arms.

“Wherever you want me to go.”

“I, uh,-“ Mickey rubbed a hand down his face. He looked like he was fighting with himself in his head. Ian didn’t need him to finish his sentence. He wordlessly abandoned his clothes and crawled on his knees across the bed. He laid on his side next to Mickey, supported his head on his elbow, placed a hand on his strong chest, and leaned down to press his lips to full, pink ones. Mickey looked grateful, and Ian doesn’t know if it’s because he didn’t have to voice his thoughts for him to understand, or if its for another reason entirely. It doesn’t matter in that moment though, Ian thinks, as his eyes take in the prince’s milky skin, tousled hair, and kiss-plumped lips. There’s a satiated expression on Mickey’s face, his pupils are blown impressively, and his hand rests on his abdomen, rising with his even breaths. Ian lays onto his back, turning his head to appreciate Mickey’s profile. He sinks into the mattress a bit, however, and his thoughts are drawn away from the handsome man next to him.

“Holy shit!” he rolls around a bit excitedly in the bed, “this is so comfortable!”

“Never slept on a real bed before, Gallagher?”

“Never even seen one, let alone slept on one.” Ian admits sheepishly. Mickey’s dark eyebrow is quirked in disbelief.

“What do you sleep on?”

“A potato sack full of straw. Its not as bad as you think! Nothing like this, though.” The redhead wiggles a bit more in his place. Mickey seems to be fighting a smile, but Ian saw his lip twitch a bit and he was pretty sure that was the closest he was going to get to those eye crinkles from their meeting by the river. Mickey shifted around until he was laying properly on the bed, his head supported by one of the plush pillows. He motioned for Ian to do the same, and when his ginger head hit the softness of the pillow, he let out a satisfied groan.

“Careful, Mick, might never get rid of me now.” Ian joked, but he paused when he realized he had just used a nickname for the crown prince. Mickey doesn’t seem bothered, instead just stared at the ceiling above them.

“Iggy said that when they were kids, they just slept outside in the grass.” He pondered aloud, and Ian drags his eyes over the other man’s profile as he speaks, “Too poor to have an actual house or hut.” Ian nods, taking in every word the once intimidating prince spoke.

“If your dad was so poor, how did he end up marrying into the royal family?” Ian asks curiously, keeping his voice gentle and polite. Mickey scoffs in response, venom seeping into his next words.

“If an unwed woman is defiled, regardless of status, the man who did so onto her may request her hand in marriage. If the woman is impregnated as a result, he must wed her.” Ian doesn’t miss the implication; Mickey was conceived this way. His heart leapt into his throat in fear for Mandy.

Ian doesn’t stop to think before he leans over a bit and wraps an arm around Mickey. The prince froze for a moment, and Ian grew worried that he was about to be banished or murdered, but the dark-haired man’s body relaxed gradually. He shifts closer, Ian subconsciously doing the same. They lay that way, staring at the ceiling, Ian’s arm wrapped around Mickey’s shoulders, their sides pressed flush against each other.

After awhile, Mickey sat up, leaned forward a bit, and ran a hand down his face. Ian followed suit, and wordlessly, the pair began to dress. Mandy would be returning soon, and neither of them wanted to be found in such a state of vulnerability, even if Mandy didn’t have qualms with their preferences. Ian was halfway through shining one of Mickey’s boots when Mandy returned with lunch. The three of them ate and chatted, and when the food was eaten and their stomachs full, Mandy gathered the dishes and left back to the kitchen. Ian had finished shining the boots before she returned to escort him out. The redhead knew that he and Mickey would need to discuss what happened, but he didn’t know when or how. He followed Mandy out of the castle, lost in his own thoughts and missing entirely what she was talking about. When he got home that afternoon, as he went about his regular chores and work, he could not keep the Crowned Prince Mickey out of his head.

The same evening, he found himself perched on his favourite boulder next to the river. It was quickly becoming the place he escaped to when he needed to think, and he loved the serenity of the area.

Mickey. The prince who happened to be gay, who didn’t want to be king one day. Mickey, who taught him how to use silverware, who let him lay in his bed, who introduced him to his peasant brother, who treated him as a person and not merely dirt. Mickey, with blue eyes and black hair, who’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, who’s moans of pleasure had Ian absolutely wrecked. Ian’s heart thumped in his chest the longer he thought about the other man, and he absentmindedly unsheathed his dagger to trace in the water. He thought about the prince, wondered if this was a one-time thing, hoped that he would be able to be with him again in that special way; prayed that Mickey’s heart jumped into his own throat every time he thought of Ian.

Ian was drawn from his thoughts at the sound of approaching footsteps. This time, he didn’t need to turn to know who was jostling around behind him, preparing to sit on the adjacent rock. When his eyes met the blue of the royalty next to him, he couldn’t stop the grin that broke across his face. He knew he probably looked like a fool to Mickey, smiling from ear to ear like that, but he seemed to lose all control over his facial muscles the second the prince made his presence known.

“Quit smilin’ like that, Gallagher.” An amused smirk was etched across his face, and the moonlight that reflected off the water was shining in his eyes. Ian could see the playfulness expressed in them.

“Can’t help it.”

It was the truth; Ian knew it and Mickey knew it. Ian tore his eyes away from the man next to him and returned his gaze to the river water. They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments before the dark-haired man spoke.

“I, uh, I was hopin’ I’d see ya down here.” His hand scratched at the back of his neck, and as Ian could swear that he saw the prince’s ears tinge pink in the moonlight.

“Yeah? What for?”

“Just like talkin’ to ya, I guess.” That goofy smile stretched broader across Ian’s face at this response.

“I like talkin’ to you too, Mick.” He turned his eyes to the clear sky above. “Also like what we did earlier.”

A sheepish and awkward smile crossed Mickey’s face, the corner of his mouth turning up as he crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t say anything, but his soft expression erased any nerves Ian felt about broaching the subject.

“Was kinda hopin’ we could do it again sometime.” The redhead murmured hopefully. The prince smiled amusedly and rolled his eyes a bit.

“Yeah, yeah, Gallagher. We’ll see.” And the way he said that made Ian sure that he was just too shy and awkward to outright express his interest in continuing their activities. He glanced at the prince out of the corner of his eye, before looking back to the stars.

More silence followed for a bit, and Ian found himself basking in the fact that he could sit in complete quiet with Mickey and still feel comfortable. He enjoyed the other man’s company, and he reflected on what he’d learned about the other man earlier that day as he traced shapes in the water with his dagger.

“I thought about what you told me earlier,” the prince’s voice cut the silence and startled Ian from his thoughts. “About the woman, I mean. I was thinkin’ I’m gonna sorta go under cover for a bit. Wander around market street in a cloak, maybe. Just to see what’s goin’ on.”

Ian was surprised by this admission. He had spent his whole life hearing horror stories about Terry the Tyrant, about his cruel reign over the lands. To meet his son and find that he was so starkly contrasting was startling. Ian’s face warmed and his heart swam in his tummy as he smiled softly at Mickey, who was doing his best not to make eye contact.

“Yeah? I think that’s a good idea, Mick.” He could feel himself smiling softly, fondly, as he continued to survey the sky. Silence befell them once more, and Ian felt the need to fill the air even if the silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

“You have an education, yeah?” he doesn’t let Mickey answer, “I don’t but Lip teaches me a lot of things that he learns. You know about constellations?” Mickey doesn’t respond immediately, so he continues, pointing up to a cluster of stars above them.

“That’s Ursa Major. It’s always easy for me to see right away. And that tiny cluster there, that’s Ursa Minor. Lip tells me the stories about them too. Ursa Major was once a beautiful woman who was having an affair with some God. When the God’s wife came lookin’, he turned the woman into a bear to disguise her. His wife didn’t trust him and made him go home before he could change her back. While he was gone, the woman’s son was hunting in the forest and shot the bear. He was despaired when he realized it was his mother, so the God turned both the woman and her son into bears and cast them into the sky.” He paused to take a breath, not looking to Mickey for a cue to continue. He hoped he wasn’t annoying the man, but the stars fascinated him to no end, and he wanted to share that with the prince.

“Those stars there, that’s Orion’s belt. He was a great hunter who killed animals for the Gods’ dinner. One day, the goddess of the hunt asked to accompany him. He shot at a deer and his aim was so perfect that it died instantly. The goddess was pleased and bragged the story to all the other gods. Orion wanted to please her even more so the next day he killed every animal he saw and piled them outside the goddess’ door to show her. When the goddess saw what he’d done, she was angry. She was the goddess of the hunt, but also the goddess of the animals, and she hated those who hunted more than they could eat. She killed him, but because he had been so good to them, the main God cast him into the sky.” He knew his hand gestures were out of control and he knew he was rambling, but Mickey’s eyes were glued to him and his expression was gentle, so Ian kept going.

“That one, that one is my favourite.” He was pointing to a large triangular shape in the stars. “Her name is Andromeda, and in her story, her mother is vain and tells everyone that she -the mother- is the most beautiful being in the universe. One of the Gods didn’t like that, because he had made creatures more beautiful than her. In his rage, he created a vicious sea monster. When Andromeda’s mom wouldn’t say she wasn’t the most beautiful, the gods decided that her one daughter -Andromeda- would be sacrificed to the sea monster. So, they chained her up and left her. She’s chained in her constellation, but that’s not where her story ends! Perseus, who had just killed Medusa -the one with the snake hair- comes to Andromeda’s rescue at the last moment and saves her! He brings her back to his home where he marries her, and they rule together as king and queen.” Ian finishes his rant and rests his chin on his palm as he stares up at the sky, a dreamy expression on his face. He doesn’t notice the extremely fond look in Mickey’s eyes, nor does he notice the other man’s slightly upturned lips and slightly raised eyebrows. However, he did notice when Mickey scooted a little closer on the rock, and he noticed when the prince’s arm snaked around to grasp at the red hair at the base of his skull, and he most definitely noticed when he was being coaxed into a soft and gentle kiss; their lips barely connecting before the pair drew apart.

Ian’s hand came up to the back of Mickey’s head and he nudged him back toward his lips. The other hand was fumbling to put his dagger back in its sheath, but when he managed to get it secured, he brought his fingers up to caress the strong jaw of the man in front of him. Their lips pressed and pull at each other, every second bringing the kiss deeper and deeper. When they tired of their lips being the only spot of contact, Ian dragged his tongue across Mickey’s bottom lip. The groan that rattled from Mickey’s chest was all it took for Ian to realize he was a goner. Within minutes, even if those minutes felt like hours in the best way, the pair were making love on the shore of the river; basking in the moonlight, drinking in each other’s scents and tastes. Neither would outwardly call it making love, but that’s what it was; gentle and fond, sweet and caring. None of the urgency and aggression from their earlier encounter.

They lay together, in the cool grass, after they’re done. The stars and moon are shining light over their sweat coated skin, making their bodies glow in the night. Ian doesn’t want to get up, doesn’t want to go home, wants to stay with Mickey in this moment for eternity. The dark-haired man is soft and pliant and so fucking beautiful next to Ian, laying on the redhead’s bicep like it’s the most comfortable pillow in the world. Ian’s hand is stroking up and down the prince’s shoulder, and he is relishing in the feeling of the smooth skin beneath his fingertips. Too soon, the pair came to terms with the fact that they could not lay there forever, and they begrudgingly parted ways; Ian to the hut and Mickey back to the palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I posted a day early because I won't have my laptop tomorrow. I just started my practicum in school this week, so my chapters may lower in word count :( I will still try my best to update every week!  
> I am currently looking for a beta for this fic, between practicum and studying, I don't have time to proofread as much as I'd like. I need some help formatting and keeping my tenses in line, and other such things. Contact me if you're interested!  
> Please leave a comment/kudos! I will try my best to respond to all of the comments!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short, filler chapter with a date embedded in it :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that I didn't post last week! I've been super busy with my practicum and just didn't have time to write. I hope this little filler chapter makes up for my missed week! Once again, I apologize for my inconsistent formatting. Enjoy, and don't forget to comment/leave kudos!  
> Love,  
> Ash

When the beginning of the next week rolled around, Ian and Lip headed to market street as always. Ian didn’t register the amount of money that Lip announced they had, but he knew for sure that it would be enough to buy everything, rather than steal. They had come to an unspoken agreement that as long as Ian continued to pull in so much extra money, they would cease to steal.

After arriving back at the hut with their legally purchased goods, Ian headed to the shop. Rowan’s frail body was hunched over as he rooted through the crate of crafting supplies, clearly looking for something specific.

“Good morning, Rowan. Any news today?” Ian asked, clearly expecting Rowan to tell him he was needed at the castle again the day after.

“Not to my knowledge.” The old man replied, straightening up with his arms wrapped around a large roll of his finest leather. Ian’s heart sunk; he was more disappointed than he ever expected. Why hadn’t Mickey requested his presence? Did he do something wrong? Maybe their last encounters had been too much for the dark-haired royalty. Ian couldn’t suppress his frown, and Rowan misread it as disappointment in the loss of profit.

“It’s okay, my boy, you’ll still earn your regular weekly wages. Today I want you to start making some boots that people can actually wear. I have been saving this leather for this very occasion!” Ian appreciated his attempt at reassurance, so he mustered up a smile for his mentor’s sake.

The pair spent the afternoon crafting boots out of the best leather Rowan had, and Ian put all of his focus and attention on the task. If he didn’t, he would end up wallowing all day about Mickey, and would end up making botched footwear, effectively wasting Rowan’s leather. By the end of the day, they had four pairs of boots started, a pair for Fiona, Lip, Debbie, and Carl. Ian would have liked to make some for Liam too, but he was growing so fast that he’d have to make new ones in a month anyway.

As his workday came to an end, his thoughts were drawn back to Mickey. Logically, he knew that the other man owed him nothing; that he wasn’t guaranteed a job every week at the castle. But his heart still ached at the thought of not being invited back to the palace where he had grown attached to spending time with not only Mickey, but Mandy as well.

The walk back to the hut seemed long and painful as his thoughts swirled with self hatred and doubt. The path seemed to drag on and on, longer than he ever noticed it was before. He didn’t bother with going down to the river tonight; he knew the area would only remind him of the prince. So, when he finally arrived home, he skipped dinner and crashed in his bed, not moving for the rest of the evening as he tried to sleep away his heartache.

It was dark outside when Ian awoke to the sound of something rustling outside the window of his shared bedroom. His makeshift bed was positioned underneath the window during the warm months of the year, making him the only one who was roused by the abnormal shuffling noises. His brothers’ snores were the only sounds in the room, and he became more aware of them as he sat up and blearily rubbed his eyes with a closed fist. Just as he was about to stand to look out at whatever woke him up, four stubby fingers came into his line of sight and wrapped around the windowsill. Ian almost jumped out of his skin, adrenaline suddenly making an appearance in his body. Without thinking about his next move, he leapt up and, without looking, pulled his fist back and jammed it through the window. His hand met something meaty, and he retracted his fist at the sound of a pained grunt. A very familiar grunt. He blinked a few times to clear out the sleep related blur in his vision, and almost puked when he realized what -or rather, who- he had hit.

“Jesus Christ!” they said at the same time, both staring at each other. Mickey held his cheek in one hand, rubbing it soothingly. His other hand was flipping Ian off through the window. Ian wanted to scream something along the lines of ‘What the fuck are you doing out there?’, but the realization that he had just assaulted the crown prince slapped him across the face. He cowered back slightly, worried that Mickey would retaliate in one way or another. The prince must’ve seen the fear on Ian’s face, because the scowl he’d been wearing softened and his hands lowered into a placating position.

“Hey, man, it’s okay. You thought someone was breaking in. I’m not going to cut your head off for fucking defending yourself.” His tone was soft, but his words hit hard. Ian let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“What are you doing here?” he wanted to sound harsher, meaner, maybe. But the words fell from his mouth breathlessly and he couldn’t help the gentleness of his tone. He wasn’t angry with Mickey; he was hurt, a little afraid. The adrenaline hadn’t fully left him yet, and his extremities were shaking slightly because of it.

“Wanted to say sorry about not invitin’ ya back to the castle tomorrow. Got some business to take care of. Didn’t want ya to think I was mad or somethin’.” a small, pale hand came up to rub at plump lips. Ian thought it might be a nervous tick. Nevertheless, his heart filled with warmth at the profession. It gave him some hope that maybe Mickey felt the same about Ian, maybe it wasn’t just a random hookup, maybe there were some actual feelings involved. The redhead exhaled again, his body beginning to relax after the ordeal. A purple bruise was blooming on the normally alabaster cheek of the man outside his window, and guilt flooded his stomach in response. With the guilt came panic at the idea that he hadn’t apologized for hitting him yet, and his face heated in embarrassment. God, with one emotion comes another, and Ian is spiraling through all of them because of this beautiful prince.

“Oh god! I’m sorry!” he rushed to the windowsill and leaned out far enough to cup the other man’s face in his palms. Turning Mickey’s face enough to inspect the blossoming grape coloured patch of skin, Ian leaned further out the window to brush his lips as gently as possible to the prince’s cheek. Pink flooded the paleness around the mark, and Ian couldn’t stop himself from finding this man adorable. He turned the prince’s face again and pressed his lips against the plump pink ones that definitely reminded him of the pillows on the bed in the castle.

“It’s okay, man. I’ve had worse.” The dark-haired man’s gruff voice filled Ian’s ears, and he detected a note of embarrassment and maybe some nervousness. Ian’s fingers found their way to the hair on Mickey’s head, and he ran his digits through the softness happily. He thought about saying a lot of things in this perfect moment; maybe ‘I was scared you hated me’ or ‘I was hurt when I thought I would never see you again’, but Ian was pretty sure that Mickey understood those things, and that was probably the reason the prince had made a late night visit to the hut in the first place.

Ian Gallagher didn’t know a lot of things about life; hell, he could barely even read. But one thing he did know was that he did not want Mickey to leave yet. He glanced up at the moon to gauge how much time was left in the night, then looked back into bright blue eyes. He hadn’t leaned back into the hut yet, and his hands still cupped Mickey’s jaw and the back of his head respectively. Without much thought, he asked the first question that popped into his mind.

“Wanna go get some ale at the tavern?”

The Alibi Tavern was a hut that looked similar to the shoeshining shop; stone with a wooden door and roof. A sign hanging from the beam that supported the roof depicted a mug filled with what one could assume was ale or perhaps wine. The pair of unlikely friends made their way to the door, Ian holding it open for the shorter man to pass through first.

“Ian! Long time, no see, man! What brings ya here on this fine evening?” the man behind the bar greeted. He was large, muscled in the right places, with kind brown eyes and a toothy grin. A grimy towel was slung over his shoulder, which he wiped his hands on as he spoke.

“Hey, Kev, just came for a round of ale with my good friend, uh, Mickey.” The pair had already decided it was safe to tell people the prince’s real name, as long as they didn’t get to see his face too long. This in mind, Mickey wore his cloak hood up and stalked toward a rickety wooden table near the back of the tavern, choosing the seat with his back to the rest of the bar.

“Not a friendly guy, huh? No worries, man, have a seat and I’ll bring by your ale in a minute.” Ian grinned at his old friend and nodded, following Mickey to the table. He sat across from the other man, who had lowered his hood enough that Ian could appreciate the way his hair shone in the wall-lantern light. His bruise was fully developed, and Ian felt a twinge of guilt as he looked at it, and Mickey must’ve noticed the look on his face.

“Quit lookin’ at me like that, man. Not a fuckin’ pussy.” The dark-haired man grumbled as Kev swung by and set two aged goblets in front of them. The ale inside looked the colour of piss, but Ian still swallowed a couple of gulps before setting the cup heavily on the table, liquid sloshing over the edges.

“Didn’t say you were.” He responded, staring across the table with intent. Mickey leaned forward; almost in challenge, as their green and blue fought for dominance in the conversation. Reluctantly, they both pulled back, eyes separating to take in their surroundings.

“So, whaddya think? Good enough for royalty?” Ian teased.

“Eh, not bad. Wish the chairs were nicer.” A playful smile teased those full lips, and Ian wished they weren’t in public because all he wanted to do was lean across the table and kiss them.

“What kinda business you doin’ tomorrow?” the redhead questioned. He wanted to get to understand every aspect of Mickey’s life; he wanted to know everything there was to know about the prince.

“Just some stuff for my dad,” The response was unusually guarded, and his tone left no room for pressing. Ian decided to let it go. “What about you? What are you up to tomorrow?” Ian grinned at the question, feeling pride in his work with Rowan on the boots for his siblings.

“Me an’ Rowan started making some boots for my brothers and sisters, probably gonna finish ‘em.”

“Yeah? How about after that, you make me some new boots too? I’ll pay for ‘em and you can get practice craftin’.”

“But your boots are already like new.” Ian felt his heart swoon at the suggestion, but he didn’t see the need for Mickey to get new boots that were definitely going to be sloppily made compared to the ones he already owned. The prince’s fingers came up in what Ian thought was going to be a grab for his ale, but instead his fist knocked against the goblet hard enough to send it flying to the floor. Ale covered the man’s pants and sloshed over his boots.

“No, they’re not.” Mickey’s eyes were playful, and his face was trying to look innocent. Ian grinned in response. Both men knew that the polish Ian used made the boots water resistant, but neither planned to mention that minor detail.

“No, I guess they’re not. One new pair of boots comin’ up.”

“Did you boys just throw ale on my floor and smile about it?” a voice from a person they hadn’t noticed approaching spilled into their ears.

“Of course not, Vee, just an accident.” Ian turned to lay his Gallagher charm onto Veronica, who had thrown a towel over the mess and was pushing it around with her foot.

“You know I don’t believe that for a second, Ian.” She whipped him with the damp towel she’d just used on the floor.

“Ow!” Ian acted a lot more hurt than he actually was, even clutching his arm where she’d hit. She rolled her eyes and was about to ask if they needed a refill when her eyes moved over to Mickey.

“Who’s your friend?” she gestured vaguely to the dark-haired man who was currently looking anywhere but at her. She moved a little closer to get a better look in the dim light, “Looks familiar. Have I met you before, honey?”

“No! He’s from, uh, out of town. Visiting his cousins, a couple streets over.” Ian hoped his panic wasn’t evident in his voice, and when Vee stopped scrutinizing Mickey, he thought they’d been caught.

“Visiting his cousins, huh?” She sounded extremely suspicious but pulled back and looked to Ian. “You boys need anything else? Dump one more drink on my floor and I’ll throw you out by the hair.” The redhead smiled sheepishly.

“Nah, Vee, it’s okay. We’re almost done here anyway.” She glanced over at Mickey suspiciously once more before turning and stalking off to take her place behind the bar, her heels clacking the whole way across the stone floor.

“That was close.” Ian breathed out at Mickey once Veronica was out of earshot. The other man was staring back, frozen in place. Both men exhaled in relief, not looking away from each other, before breaking out into fits of laughter. It was this moment that made Ian understand just how hard he’d already fallen. Watching those blue eyes crinkle up around the edges, the way those full lips pulled back to reveal white teeth; it all made Ian’s heart swoon and flutter.

The redhead pushed his chair out to stand, Mickey doing the same, as they prepared to leave the tavern. Ian tossed a couple of knickles onto the bar and saluted Kev in passing as they walked by. Ian once again held the door for Mickey to pass through, and the other man rolled his eyes as he exited the building.

“You always treat your date like a fuckin’ princess or is it just because it’s me?” he said gruffly, and Ian tried to suppress his smile at the grumpiness.

“Well, you’re the only person I’ve ever taken on a date, so I guess the answer is both.” Both men pretended they didn’t notice the flush rise to Mickey’s cheeks. They strolled in silence along the path that lead to the riverbank. Neither had consciously decided to head there, but that was where their legs chose to carry them, and neither of them disagreed. Ian was starting to think of the space as their spot rather than just his, and while that thought scared him a little bit, he also welcomed it. He kicked a stone unthinkingly and when they came close to it again, Mickey kicked it. The pair took turns kicking the stone in a silent competition to see who could send it further. The winner didn’t matter though, for when they reached their destination, the stone was immediately forgotten.

They turned to each other, the moonlight illuminating their features. Ian searched Mickey’s eyes for a sign that he wanted what Ian wanted; to only belong to each other. The moment stretched for what seemed like years, and the shine boy would not have spent a second of it somewhere else.

“Mickey, I-“ but before he could finish his thought, the other man’s lips were on his. Their hands reached for each other, clutched at the fabric of each other’s shirts. Their tongues swirled together, bottom lips were nibbled, teeth clashed, noses pressed painfully against one another. Neither man pulled away until the need for air was too much, and even then, they stayed nose to nose, forehead to forehead, their eyes locked in a heated gaze of passion and lust.

Mickey’s fingers tugged at the hem of Ian’s tunic and pulled upward. The redhead lifted his arms automatically to help the removal of the garment go smoother. The prince tore off his own tunic just as quickly, then they were back in each other’s space, Ian’s large palm coming up to cup the strong jaw of his lover. Their lips met again, this time softer, but no less urgent. The pair soon lost their boots and pants, leaving them naked in the cool night air. Ian bought his hands down to the thick thighs of the man in front of him, hoisting them up over his hips. Mickey locked his ankles around the other’s waist and Ian lowered both of them to the soft grass. He gently laid his lover down, rolled his tunic and stuffed it under the other man’s hips to raise him off the ground slightly. The dark-haired man’s lips were parted as he panted out soft breaths and Ian couldn’t resist dipping his tongue between them. He ground his erection against Mickey’s, their grunts filling the empty space around them. Ian felt fingers running through his hair, and he leaned down to press his lips to the pale expanse of throat beneath him. The pair rutted desperately against each other, chests pressed hard together, breaths mingling through parted lips. The redhead ceased his movements and pulled back far enough to see into the clear blue eyes he was becoming so familiar with. The orbs he sought were full of tenderness and peace and maybe a little love, and Ian couldn’t get enough of them. He pressed a closed mouth kiss to the other’s lips and pecked his bruised cheek before going back to Mickey’s neck. He sucked a different kind of bruise there, his cock getting harder at the thought that everyone would see the mark he left on the prince’s skin.

His hands wrapped around those thighs again and pulled them up toward his hips. Mickey let out a long and desperate groan, which only fueled Ian’s fire. He offered his fingers to his lover, who wrapped his pink lips around them as he sucked and slurped on the digits provocatively. Ian let out what one may call a growl and pulled his fingers out to bring them to the ring of muscle he so desperately craved. He made quick work of opening Mickey, both men desperate to be joined as one. The redhead leaned down to capture those fucking lips once more as he used the arm not holding himself steady to line his cock up with Mickey’s entrance. As he pushed forth, slowly breaching the muscle, he pulled his head back to clench his teeth in pleasure. He kept his eyes open, watching his lover’s eyes roll back a little bit as he took in inch by inch of Ian’s thickness. As he finally bottomed out, Ian paused, sweat dripping from his forehead into Mickey’s hair. Green mingled with blue, their breaths mixed, and Ian loved every centimetre of the man beneath him.

“Mickey, I love you.”

The dark-haired man looked overcome with sensations and perhaps emotions, so Ian took it upon himself to shift his hips just enough to take the other’s mind off his confession. Mickey all but keened at the change in pressure, so Ian took that as a cue to continue. He began to shift his hips in a rhythm that looked like it would make Mickey cry in pleasure, and by doing so, Ian brought himself closer and closer to the edge. He had to slow down, just enough to stave off his orgasm, before he picked up that brutal pace that was making the prince become a puddle in the grass.

With one last long groan, Mickey clenched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth as his body tensed through his release. Spurts of come shot out and hit Ian at his jugular notch, and the tension of his lover’s body squeezed his own orgasm out of him. He felt his cock pulsating inside of his lover as he rode out his orgasm. Panting heavily, Ian pulled out and flopped onto the grass next to the prince, silence overcoming them as they caught their breath. Minutes later, Mickey broke the quiet.

“Did ya mean it?” Ian turned his head to take in the prince’s profile. Mickey was looking at the dark sky, pointedly avoiding Ian’s gaze.

“Course I meant it.”

“Good. I love you, too, Gallagher.”


End file.
